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SCEPTICISM  IN  THE  ENGLISH  RENAISSANCE 


A Sketch  of  Some  Conflicts  Between  Medieval  and  Modern 
Thought  as  Expressed  in  English  Literature 


BY 


LOUIS  IGNATIUS  BREDVOLD 
A.  B.  University  of  Minnesota,  1909 
A.  M.  University  of  Minnesota,  1910 


THESIS 

Submitted  in  Partial  Fulfillment  of  the  Requirements  for  the 

Degree  of 

DOCTOR  OF  PHILOSOPHY 
IN  ENGLISH 


IN 

THE  GRADUATE  SCHOOL 

OF  THE 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 
1921 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


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I HEREBY  RECOMMEND  THAT  THE  THESIS  PREPARED  UNDER  MY 

SUPERVISION  BY, 

ENTITLED 


BE  ACCEPTED  AS  FULEILLING  THIS  PART  OF  THE  REQUIREMENTS  FOR 
THE  DEGREE  OF 


In  Charge  of  Thesis 


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Recommendation  concurred  in* 


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PREFACE 


The  writer  of  this  study  is  conscious  that  it  is 
not  an  exhaustive  account  of  all  phases  of  scepticism  in 
the  English  Renaissance.  The  subject  was  new  and  large, 
and  the  time  was  limited.  I hope  that  the  constant  haste 
in  preparation  is  not  too  evident  in  the  pages  that  follow. 

My  investigations  have  been  aided  by  the  loan  of 
books  from  the  libraries  of  the  Universities  of  Chicago, 
Princeton  and  Harvard  and  the  General  Theological  Seminary 
Library  of  New  York.  I am  gratefully  indebted  to  Professor 
H.  S.  V.  Jones,  who  has  read  the  second  chapter  in  manu- 
script, and  who  has  constantly  borne  this  investigation  in 
mind  and  called  my  attention  to  helpful  books  and  articles. 
Professor  B.  H.  Bode  has  kindly  read  and  commented  on  the 
first  chapter.  I owe  a heavy  debt  of  gratitude  to  Professor 
Ernest  Bernbaum.  The  im.perfections  of  my  work  are  my  own, 
but  every  chapter  has  been  strengthened  by  his  stimulus  and 
suggestions.  I am  happy  to  acknowledge  the  benefit,  in 
every  stage  of  my  work,  of  his  ready  sympathy  and  always 
helpful  criticism. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/scepticisminenglOObred 


COUTENTS 

IIITRO0UCTION;  THE  RELATION  OF  THIS  STUDY  TO  CURRENT  DOCTRINES 
ON  THE  SUBJECT 

I.  The  Misunderstanding  of  the  Sixteenth  Century  in 
TT  ^^^-Classical  and  Romantic  Periods 

H-S  Conception  of  the  Renaissance  in  the 

Mid-Nineteenth  Century 

I I I.  The  Failure  of  English  Literary  History  to  Apply 
this  Conception  Thoroughly 

IV.  The  Partial  Application  of  the  New  Conception  of 
the  Renaissance  Illustrated  in  the  Criticism 
of  the  Metaphysical  Poets 

V.  The  Purpose  of  this  Study 

CHAPTER  ONE.  THE  DISSOLUTION  OF  MEDIEVALISM  AND  THE  DEVELOP- 
MENT  OF  SCEPTICISM  IN  THE  RENAISSANCE 

I.  The  Problem  of  Universals 

II.  Dualism  of  Faith  and  Reason 

III.  The  Comparative  Study  of  Relicrions 

IV.  The  Reformation 

Culture  of  the  Libertines 

VI.  The  Revival  of  Greek  Scepticism 

CHAPTER  TWO.  SCEPTICAL  TENDENCIES  IN  ENGLAND  IN  THE 
SIXTEENTH  CENTURY 

I.  Individualism  in  the  English  Reformation 
II;  The  Indifference  of  Queen  Elizabeth 

III.  Heresy  as  a Crime 

IV.  The  "Italian  Danger" 

V.  Machiavellism  in  England 

VI.  The  "Atheism"  of  Marlowe  and  Raleigh 

CHAPTER  THREE.  SCEPTICISM  AND  NATURALISM  IN  DONNE'S  EARLY 
VERSE 

I.  The  Sceptical  Thought  of  Donne 

Formulation  of  the  Law  of  Nature 

TV  Discussion  of  the  Law  of  Nature 

IV.  pe  "Libertine"  Appeal  to  Nature 
V Scepticism  and  Naturalism  in  Montaigne 
vi.  Continuations  in  the  Seventeenth  Century 


Page 


9 

13 


15 

25 


30 

32 

37 

45 

51 

55 

60 


64 

66 

71 

75 

81 

88 

97 


111 

113 

119 

123 

130 

141 

148 


J 


Page 


CHAPTER  FOUR.  DAVIES'  NOSCE  TEIPSUM  AND  THE  IDEALISTIC 
TRADITION 

Suggested  Sources  of  ILosce  Teiosum 
II.  Precursors  of  Davies 

Primaudaye  and  Others 
ly.  The  Obsolete  Rationalism  of  Davies 
Appendix  to  Chapter  Four 

CHAPTER  FIVE.  THE  NEW  PHILOSOPHY  OF  SCIENCE 

I.  The  Medieval  Cosmology 

Development  of  the  Mechanistic  Theory 
ill. The  Position  of  Bacon 

IV.  The  Materialism  of  Hobbes 

V.  The  Opposition  to  Hobbes:  Cartesianism  and  Scepticism 


CHAPTER  SIX 
CENTURY 


DIFFUSION  OF  SCEPTICAL  THOUGHT  IK  THE  SEVENTEENTH 


I.  Critloal  Temper  of  the  Seventeenth  Century 

II.  in  the  Thought  of  the  Liberal 

Soeptiolsm  and  Religious  Wonder 
IV.  Francis  Osborn:  Scepticism  and  the  New  Courtier  Type 

CHAPTER  SEVEN.  SCEPTICISM  AND  THE  ORIGINS  OF  DEISM 

I.  Two  Tendencies  in  Deism 

II.  The  Development  of  Deism  among  Renaissance  Soeotics 

III.  Deism  Dissolved  in  Complete  sSepticism  '>=®Ptios 

CHAPTER  EIGHT.  SCEPTICISM  AND  MYSTICISM  IN  JOHN  DONNE 
August inianism  of  Donne 

Expression  of  Donne's 


CONCLUSION 


bibliography 


153 

155 

158 

175 

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196 


198 

201 

206 

213 

224 

227 


239 

240 

247 

258 

268 


278 

279 
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INTRODUCTION:  THE  RELATION  OF  THIS  STUDY  TO  CURRENT 

DOCTRINES  ON  THE  SUBJECT 


I.  The  Misunderstanding  of  the  Sixteenth  Century  in  the  Neo- 
Classical  and  Romantic  Periods.-  II.  The  Clearer  Conception 
of  the  Renaissance  in  the  Mid-Nineteenth  Century.-  III.  The 
Failure  of  English  Literary  History  to  Aoply  this  Conception 
Thoroughly.-  IV.  The  Partial  Application  of  the  New  CoScep- 
tion  Ox  the  Renaissance  Illustrated  in  the  Criticism  of  the 
Metaphysical  Poets.-  V.  The  Purpose  of  this  Study. 


The  student  of  scepticism  may  approach  his  subject  in  one 
of  two  ways.  He  may  examine  it  critically,  that  is,  to  a certain 
extent  dogmatically,  test  its  methods  and  results, and  determine 
how  far  its  pretensions  are  justified.  He  would  select  for  this 
purpose  the  supreme  exponents  of  the  sceptical  temper,  regardless 
of  periods,  and  relate  them  to  their  times  only  in  so  far  as 
necessary  to  the  exposition  of  their  doctrines.  His  main  effort 
would  be  to  evaluate  their  permanent  contributions  and  to  distin- 
guish these  from  what  was  erroneous,  or  perhaps  of  some  transitory 
value.  Such  a critical  study  of  scepticism  we  have  from  Saisset. 
Saisset  feared  the  scepticism  in  the  Nineteenth  century;  he  thought 
it  had  become  too  powerful  and  dominating  by  combination  with  the 
religious,  philosophical,  and  scientific  tendencies  of  the  century; 
and  he  sought  to  combat  it  by  studying  its  great  representatives  in 
the  past,  Aenesideme,  Pascal,  Kant;  ”je  viens  le  combattre, 
sender  . . . le  problerae  de  1' analyse  de  la  raison  humaine,  et  y 
chercher  les  titres  eternels  du  dogmatisme , 

— 5SS2tlS.isme:  AeneBid^me.  Pascal.  Kant.  3nd  ed. 


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On  the  other  hand,  he  may  make  his  study  purely 
historicalj  he  may  describe  the  development  of  scepticism  in  some 
period  and  trace  its  influences  on  the  imaginative,  intellectual 
and  spiritual  life  of  the  age.  His  evaluation  then  would  not  be 
absolute,  but  an  appreciation  of  scepticism  as  a force  in  history. 
He  would  ask  what  work  this  acid  influence  performed,  and  how 
essential  it  was  in  the  characteristic  movements  of  the  age.  What 
beliefs  and  preconceptions  did  it  attack?  How  successful  was  it? 
And  what  new  ideas  were  made  possible  by  this  disintegration  of 
the  old?  Such  an  historical  study,  a chapter  of  the  natural 
history  of  the  human  mind,  I propose  to  make  of  the  sceptical  ten- 
dencies in  the  English  Renaissance. 

The  pertinence  of  this  investigation  is  perhaps  not  at 
first  apparent.  Why  select  the  Renaissance,  rather  than  more 
recent  periods,  for  the  study  of  scepticism?  Or,  if  one  is  study- 
ing the  Renaissance,  why  should  an  account  of  the  sceptical  move- 
ments throw  any  considerable  light  on  the  period  as  a whole?  For 
even  the  natural  historian  is  expected  to  collect  his  specimens 
with  some  purpose,  and  to  illuminate  as  large  a body  of  data  as 
possible  by  concentrating  on  crucial  problems.  To  answer  these 
questions  it  will  be  helpful,  before  defining  more  fully  the 
objects  of  this  study,  to  revievir  the  various  conceptions  of  the 
period  we  call  the  "Renaissance",  and  see  how  far  they  justify  ray 
assumption  that  scepticism  was  a significant  element  in  its  complex 
intellectual  and  imaginative  life.  These  conceptions,  in  their 
variety,  and  with  their  historical  reasons,  will  assist  us  in 
judging  our  present  theories  of  the  period.  I shall  aim,  therefore, 
to  sketch  the  development  of  the  current  conception  of  the 


'S’ 


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Renaissance,  show  how  and  when  this  development  was  retarded  or 
aided,  and  what  has  been  the  tendency  of  recent  study.  Finally, 

I shall  explain  the  relation  of  my  own  investigation  to  the  general 
problems  of  the  history  of  the  Renaissance  culture  and  literature. 
In  this  review  one  or  two  excursions  into  cognate  fields  will  be 
unavoidable,  though  in  the  main  it  will  be  confined  to  literary 
history,  and  in  the  latter  part  of  it,  attention  will  be  focussed 
on  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  vexing  problems  in  the  study  of 
English  poetry. 

I, 

The  Misunderstanding  of  the  Sixteenth  Century  in 
the  Neo-Classical  and  Romantic  Periods. 

Two  hundred  years  were  destined  to  elapse  before  the  age 
of  Elizabeth  received  a generous  and  really  philosophical  compre- 
hension. Both  the  neo-classicists  and  the  romanticists  held 
definite  theories  and  cultivated  certain  tastes,  which  made  it 
difficult  for  them  to  see  the  sixteenth  century  as  it  was.  As 
their  failures  are  instructive,  their  efforts  merit  some  attention 
at  the  beginning  of  this  study. 

The  self —gratulat ion  of  the  Restoration  and  Eighteenth 
century  made  it  impossible  for  readers  at  that  time  to  see  clearly 
the  greatness  of  the  Elizabethan  age.  Of  course  the  towering 
geniuses  could  not  be  denied.  But  praise  was  ever  more  ready  for 
the  precursors  of  neo-classical  "perfection”  than  for  native  genius. 
This  condescending  attitude  towards  the ’’barbarous"  Sixteenth  century 
began  early  in  the  Seventeenth.  Clarendon,  who  in  hie  youth  had 


9C<J-:  t*  Ari9  iXWKi^-  alijif  j jsJfe^KifXi  . 

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4 


been  the  friend  and  admirer  of  Ben  Jonson,  praised  him  as  the 
reformer  of  the  stage  and  of  poetry. 

"Ben  Johnson's  name,"  he  wrote,  "can  never  be  for- 
gotten, having  by  his  very  good  learning,  and  the 
severity  of  his  nature  and  manners,  very  much  reformed 
the  stage;  and  indeed  the  English  poetry  itself  . . . 
and  surely  as  he  did  exceedingly  exalt  the  English 
language  in  eloquence,  propriety,  and  masculine  ex- 
pressions, so  he  was  the  best  judge  of,  and  fittest 
to  prescribe  rules  to  poetry  and  poets,  of  any  man, 
who  had  lived  with,  or  before  him,  or  since  . . ^ 

The  courtier  poet,  Carew,  in  an  admirable  verse  criticism  of  Donne, 
genuinely  and  intelligently  appreciative  even  of  his  stylistic 
peculiarities,  yet  feels  it  necessary  to  depreciate  Donne's  con- 
temporaries and  assert  his  absolute  uniqueness  in  terras  that 
prophecy  the  coming  "school  of  good  sense." 

"The  Muses’  garden,  with  pedantic  weeds 
O’erspread, _ was  purged  by  thee;  the  lazy  seeds 
Of  servile  imitation  thro'wn  away. 

And  fresh  invention  planted;  thou  didst  pay 
The  debts  of  our  penurious  bankrupt  age  . . 

But  thou  art  gone,  and  thy  strict  laws  will  be 
Too  hard  for  libertines  in  poetry; 

They  will  recall  the  goodly  exiled  train 
0f  gods  and  goddesses,  which  in  thy  just  reign 
Was  banish’d  nobler  poems;  now  with  these 
The  silenced  tales  i ' th ’Metamorphoses, 

Shall  stuff  their  lines,  and  swell  the  windy  page 
Till  verse,  refined  by  thee  in  this  last  age, 

Turn  ballad-rhyme,  or  those  old  idols  be 
Adored  again  with  new  apostacy."^ 

With  the  Restoration  even  these  "reformers"  of  the  poetry  of  "the 
last  age"  were  censured  for  lapses,  though  with  the  implication 
that  one  might  pardon  them  and  blame  the  age  in  which  they  lived. 
Thus  Dryden,  in  1673,  writes;  "As  for  Ben  Jonson,  I am  loath  to 
name  him,  because  he  is  a most  judicious  writer;  yet  he  very  often 


of  Clarendon.  Oxford  (1857) . I,  38. 

— ^ems_  ^ Thomas  Carew.  Muses’  Library,  pp. 100-103. 


.*«  ifiM'  hi^ais-i^  .■.np(J^'(>;iifi$->'i^ 

.,'*■  ■ '■-V,  •■  3E  .A„.  - ,;.:xA  -'iR'’  '‘•■:¥'"i.  ' \W  - 

•5^^'"  '.  ',  sf,'..  V ^ t 


life  .*5ici^  ■^'.,  -^;aKP 

. ii-  .'7  b ’4? 


'^  ' . •.  ■ ■’*''  " :\/  • ‘ '"''V-' ‘:'t 

i.-'  r-..t  • f<#<«.ji? r'  wW’.  T rt^*a^ri»i>«i.V.  W X 4.  ': 


..  It 

f'- ." 


-.-  ,'St-L 


>;  ■ '-y  ^ '-''■’'Mm  ‘ "'" 


~1 


falxs  into  there  errors  of  language  : and  I once  more  beg  the 
reader's  pardon  for  accusing  him  of  them.  Only  let  him  consider, 
that  I live  in  an  age  where  my  least  faults  are  severely  censured 

etc.«^  In  the  same  strain  are  his  comments  on  Donne,  and  even 

on  Cowley.  "I  may  safely  say  it  of  this  present  age,"  he  wrote  in 
1693,  "that  if  we  are  not  so  great  wits  as  Donne,  yet  certainly  we 
are  better  poets."  And  in  1700  he  noted  the  wane  of  Cowley's 
reputation,  in  that  for  lack  of  judgment,  "though  he  must  always  be 
thought  a great  poet,  he  is  no  longer  esteemed  a good  writer;  and 
for  ten  impressions,  which  his  works  have  had  in  so  many  successive 
years,  yet  at  present  a hundred  books  are  scarcely  purchased  once  a 
twelvemonth."^  It  is  unfair  to  Addison  as  a critic  to  quote  his 
youthful  indiscretion  in  his  Account  of  the  Greatest  English  Poets, 
but  his  lines  on  Spenser  are  a reflection  of  the  opinion  then 
current  as  to  the  sixteenth  century: 

"Old  Spenser  next,  warmed  with  poetic  rage, 

In  ancient  tales  amused  a barbarous  age; , 

But  now  the  mystic  tale,  that  please^of ’ yore , 

Can  charm  an  understanding  age  no  more." 

But  nowhere,  I think,  is  the  neo-classical  depreciation  of  the  | 

Renaissance  more  striking  than  in  the  liberal  Joseph  Warton's 

|ssa^  on  t^  genius  Writings  of  Pone  (Volume  I,  1756)  . 

"History,"  he  said,  "has  recorded  five  ages  of  the  world,  in  which 

the  human  mind  has  exerted  itself  in  an  extraordinary  manner;  and 

in  which  its  productions  in  literature  and  the  fine  arts,  have 

arrived  at  a perfection  not  equalled  in  other  periods."  These 

De_f ense  thp_  Epilogue  • Essays . ed.  W.P.Ker,  Oxford  (1900). I 167 

^Ed.  cit.  II,  102.  ' 

^Ed.  cit.  II,  358. 


y 


J 


'(■  • ''  \ ' " *1  •'  w'^*'  ’-^ 


h . ■-■•'1  V 


1^’  V'  . '-...  7 ,.  ''  ■ '■  , ■**■“ ,'  ‘t^  • ■'  1 ^'*'' ' .1,.  P ' ' *'  t( 

:^'-,  . \t_ ; ’.  '(^  - ,7.  ..-'  ■^-'7  '"//#;7  ''. ' ■ 

.*^7-%n*’  * v»f  v T*  ' . ti , -i4-A 


t«t0^,iCdi‘- 


■'  *•  ■*;  ~ ‘ -J-  * • • • ’ ’■' . ••  • ’ - *•  ‘St'  '•  ■ ■.' 

\t'  V >v  ,3ir(ivC 

.Sif  .^.  . ..  ' ■"  ^ 7'.>  ■ ■:  ?■  ^ , - 

■ 8 ' Jf  i^X ' £»tj  '^O  JEM>;^o*T;  'aK  ' O^i  Jit 


■vW 

. iD> 


^7  ’'"'■®-^  7 :;,. , 

4'-:,  ? 


^ - 4 « 


> ..  , . “^■^.  '^'  ^ '-i,  ^ •^4?-.^^  ''  ~iteflS^ i.-*A  t.  '-'^ 

HiY^tjtui  s’lA  «a»odQ.  Id' 7^^ 

J^r  oiijtftf  C'  exj 


A,«< 


V „...™.. 

45S3'-4Sk45y!i  A3i&KSO -Mi  3s  .3as«iHav'»itf 


- . ■ { 1^  A?  I?V.3!  3 «4 -lA ,. 


2iL^\  --',  ■"  - '.  7 >-iW  v*'7A§^r^‘7;.?v*\Sl  ‘7  ' ■'•  '■), 


periods  came  In  the  reigns  of  Philip  and  Alexander;  Ptolemy 
Philadelphus,  king  of  Egypt,  Julius  Caesar  and  Augu.stus;  Julius  II 
and  Leo  X (a  period  Warton  distinguished  only  in  Italy)  ; and 
Louis  XIV  in  France  and  King  William  and  Queen  Anne  in  England.^ 

In  a work  which  was  designed  to  show  that  the  greatest  poetry 
written  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne  must  ever  remain  second-rate 
compared  with  the  kind  of  poetry  cultivated  in  the  age  of  Elizabeth, 
such  inconsistency  can  be  explained  only  as  the  result  of  an  over- 
bearing tradition. 

The  significance  of  these  passages  for  our  purpose  lies 
in  the  neo-classical  belief  that  the  Sixteenth  Century  was  merely  a 
continuation  of  the  Middle  Ages.  But  the  early  critics  of  neo- 
classicism,  swinging  towards  the  opposite  pole  in  literary  doctrine, 
did  not  challenge  this  theory  of  history;  they  built  their  defense 
on  it.  Their  study  of  Spenser  and  Milton  was  stimulated  by  their 
enthusiasm  over  the  Middle  Ages.^  Thus  Hurd,  in  his  Letters  on 
Chivalry  and  Romance  (1762),  undertakes  to  defend  the  poetic  I 

availability  of  the  Middle  Ages  by  reference  to  Spenser  and  Milton. 

"Both  appear,"  he  says,  "when  most  inflamed,  to  have 
been  more  particularly  rapt  with  the  Gothic  fables 
of  chivalry. 

"Spenser,  tho’  he  had  been  long  nourished  with  the 
spirit  and  substance  of  Homer  and  Virgil,  chose  the 
times  of  chivalry  for  his  theme,  and  fairy  Land  for 
the  scene  of  his  fictions.  He  could  have  planned,  no 
doubt,  an  heroic  design  on  the  exact  classic  model: 

Or,  he  might  have  trimmed  between  the  Gothic  and 
Classic,  as  his  contemporary  Tasso  did.  But  the 
charms  of  fairy  prevailed  . . . Under  this  idea  then  j 


^5th  ed.  London  (1806).  I,  180-182. 

Cf.  "Though  Joseph  Warton  was  not  a medievalist  like  Thomas,  he 
had  that  appreciation  of  Spenser  and  Milton  which  was  the  chief 
sign  and  accompaniment  of  medieval  studies  in  England."  W.  P.  Ker, 
in  Camb.  Hist,  of  Eng.  Lit.  X,  271.  Cf.  269. 


B if-....  « . - *^-  • . ,.  i--'^";’  V'"'’’  >^-4,.  • •V'-''^v-\^Wirfrf/ 

w '; . , • , 1' ..  iv>s*«  t«W  %? , Wt s'iSfe-ittbs*''^.'  ’ 


7 


of  a Gothic,  not  classical  poem,  the  Faery  Q.ueen 
is  to  be  read  and  criticized.  And  on  these  principles, 
it  would  not  be  difficult  to  unfold  its  merit  in 
another  way  than  has  hitherto  been  attempted  . . . 

"Milton,  it  is  true,  preferred  the  classic  model 
to  the  Gothic.  . . Yet  we  see  thro*  all  hie  poetry, 
where  his  enthusiasm  flames  out  most,  a certain 
predilection  for  the  legends  of  chivalry  before  the 
fables  of  Greece  . . . 

"I  say  nothing  of  Shakespeare.  . . Yet  one  thing 
is  clear,  that  even  he  is  greater  when  he  uses  Gothic 
manners  and  machinery,  than  when  he  employs  classical: 
which  brings  us  again  to  the  same  point,  that  the 
former  have,  by  their  nature  and  genius,  the  advantage 
of  the  latter  in  producing  the  sublime . 

But  finally,  Hurd  declares,  chivalry  died  out,  the  reason  gained  the 
ascendant  over  the  imagination,  "so  that  Milton,  as  fond  as  we  have 
seen  he  was  of  the  Gothic  fictions,  durst  only  admit  them  on  the 
bye,  and  in  the  way  of  simile  and  illustration  only,"  and  "at  length 
the  magic  of  the  old  romances  was  perfectly  dissolved."^ 

As  the  romantic  movement  throughout  Europe  inspired  the 
greatest  minds  and  gained  in  unanimity  and  profundity  by  their 
efforts,  this  conception  of  the  relation  between  the  Middle  Ages 
and  the  period  we  call  the  Renaissance  was  developed  and  deepened 
by  other  larger  and  more  philosophical  conceptions.  Art, literature 
and  modes  of  life  were  regarded  as  the  expression  of  the  native 
genius  of  a people,  as  an  evidence  of  its  national  vigor  and  in- 
dividuality; they  must  be  indigenous  to  be  of  any  worth.  This 
reverence  for  nationalism  in  culture,  the  reverse  of  which  was  a 
fear  of  the  cosmopolitan  influences  of  the  period  of  the 
"Enlightenment"  as  malign,  immensely  stimulated  the  study  of  origin^ 


^Hurd,  Letters  on  Chivalry  and  Romance,  ed.  E.  J.  Morley,  London 
(1911).  pp. 114-117. 

%urd,  ed.  cit.  pp.  152-3. 


V 


■ *.,  W , , -,  V ' . ,.  J V ; V.; ,.  ■»OT^:.5'  . ■,,^;  ■'^^-  ^ J 

; '9snSfhe  M^‘  '■  Tii  ' >Wt^y 


'jp^»r-  (4,  ^3f  i/v-a?'  a:^i 

1*.  •?"  *‘  * Hk  ^.s-'  1 JaW  A.  i.  Jfc  . ' • . .A  < 


r»*fv=  A ■<.-/>,'■«'  /'  /'  ■ ■ • .'  • -■'•  ’^-  ” “?/■*'  ■'( 


Pri4  lit’ 


“ icy  •.;  ^ * * ^ v\  '..  •"  f4’y  ■ ■'  ' ’I 

* I . *Tj  ■ r • /i  V''  '■•  1.  ' j t,  »'i''lfe  ' V» '"  i 

tii’  e9if^-  4'iiTii;4i'  ■Tf£<>g'-af«;j^<^  t!^'-si» 

T-  «•  ' ;:  ■.  _ - •,  „. , ' 1 . ‘ •<fv.-  ••■'ll 

jp^X.  /:ai^', ’’•-vXiSo  ij<>i  j*X.t  ef  'Wjf 

■ - - <<  . ‘ -■  ’,-.■  -'.-i.r-  - 7"  '"  ■ '■; 

' ai  V n • . i/  ; kTi  ' 'a^  17..  r j vkA\  « *n  J 

w. 


8 


1 


of  the  Middle  Ages,  of  primitive  Germanic  life.  The  most  eminent 
illustration  of  enthusiastic  scholarship  at  the  service  of 
Romanticism  full-blown  is  the  work  of  the  brothers  Grimm  in  Germany.'^ 
But  this  was  not  all.  Romanticism  developed  a cult  of  Germanic 
solidarity  as  against  the  cult  of  Classical  antiquity;  the  modern 
world,  because  of  its  Germanic  — or,  as  it  was  then  usually  called, 
Gothic  — — origin  and  basis,  had  attained  to  a greatness  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans.  In  Hegel  this  cult  became  a 
philosophy  of  history,  that  is,  an  explanation  of  the  necessary 
course  of  development,  the  logic  of  events,  the  final  cause  and 
ultimate  significance  of  the  history  of  man.  Spiritml  freedom, 
Hegel  said,  was  the  ultimate  aim  of  history.  He  therefore  traced 
the  parallel  development  of  spiritual  and  political  freedom  in  the 
Orient,  in  Greece,  in  Rome,  until,  in  the  Germanic  world,  which  is 
the  modern  world,  "and  under  the  inspiration  of  Christianity,  we 
come  to  the  age  of  full  maturity,  whose  mission  is  to  comprehend 
and  carry  out  the  truth  that  freedom  is  the  birthright  of  all  men.’^ 
This,  the  crowning  conception  of  the  whole  Hegelian  philosophy,  had 
in  its  day  more  than  a mere  metaphysical  vogue;  for  example,  the 
distinguished  historian,  Heinrich  Leo,  although  he  later  broke  away 
from  the  spell,  in  his  early  career  accepted  Hegel  as  his  "guide  in  I 
religion,  as  in  practical  politics  and  the  treatment  of  History."^ 
But  to  be  a Romanticist  one  need  not  accept  Hegel’s  specific  inter- 


For  the  influence  of  Romanticism  on  historical  study  in  Germany 
see  Wolf, Gustav,  Einfuhrung  in  das  Studium  der  Neueren  Geschichte 
Berlin  (1910).  pp.  311-242.  ’ 

^Morris  G.  S.,  Hegel's  Philosophy  of  the  State  and  of  History. 
Chicago  (1892).  p.l36. 

3 

Hashagen,  Justus,  in  article  on  Leo,  Encvo.  Brit . 11th  ed. 


* " • •’>• 


W*>"’<'.  • WdH' ^' \ '•“  - V'’’.*  •r'"’  » T'  ' ,:■  Hi  V '.'Jtvng^ 

M-  ^ ..  -'Yfifi ■ . : '„. ' ;• . , v:  n - t ? ' Iff 

• ' ■ j"  '*  ■' 

H ' -Jtv  ■:  ■ -f t 

!■*••■  •'iBlM  ' , 4-  ’ ' >;.  ■.:'  -j.-«  ■.  _ « 'l*’  ■ **t  ,'  , ' 


jki"'*’  .*^  ■<■  • I,  ^ fr_*  , V'  ^ I JKk||rY 

W hisft^.  :••!<> .i0.i.r,-rrf  '? ?'•••■■«#  .-X'-; • -V-^ . 


f'*  / ■ .-'  • V ••  ■•■•  ,•  ,■  ®<.' '^  ■ i’ ^ ^ ’ i 

-■•  " :'  •...  '\*.  . ■ J M /.■  '•■ 

,*  'H  .v'-i  •-{<?*  u’,:^ 

; fi  r,.ui'‘£rj ,:vV^i/»|ai  ,i;44t.  , 

/ ■ ' ■•;»*'  .'^7' ■',  ,'r  .♦  . ' '■X^J  ' .itiY-'  ’ ■'■ 


,j,4  ' '■*.  I'm*"'  - \ -t-  ■ 

^ 'P^’V.’-.-.  ' •'"  ..,'  -"V  ' .' , .■'V.-'Ti-  ,*-.  t.  •■■*  .•■  'f  ,-.  ■•  , yw  ■•-  •■’■  rvts 


'X^j 


.'tilt-*  \Jit>.  &ti  .JiA-“- 


f .A-<f'j*-yJ4.''  :i'  -i  .^'  • ■■  ■•'■  v.?>' / .•  •'  ■ ■ "i  *»’J5^j 


„ 

J*-c; , ^ '•'  H.  :-v;v=rS5’"  -:  .;»••*.; -.I  ’ 

■ . .-i'  ...._■.  X '/  L ' . . ./j*:  ■ /-I  . ' . ^ • <^-'’  f* 


'.')  ^ _■  ■■  ■ 


9 


pretation  of  the  significance  of  Gernianic  culture;  every  Romantic 
critic  played  variations  on  the  same  theme.  And  when  Mme.  de  Stael 
sought  to  interpret  the  Romantic  generation  in  Germany  at  the 
beginning  of  the  IJineteenth  century,  she  believed  that  this  tenet 
was  the  most  fundamental  that  they  had  in  common.  ”Si  1‘on  n'admet 
pas  que  le  paganisms  et  le  Christ ianisme,  le  nord  et  le  mid'i, 
I'antiquite  et  le  moyen  age,  la  chevalerie  et  les  institutions 
grecques  et  romaines,  se  sont  partage'  1' empire  de  la  litterature, 

1 on  ne  parviendra  jamais  a juger  sous  un  point  de  vue  philosophique 
le  gout  antique  et  le  gout  moderne.”^  And  herself  a cosmopolitan, 
she  expressed  the  Romantic  fear  of  cosmopolitanism  in  literature: 

La  litterature  des  anciens  est  chez  les  modernes  une  litterature 
transplant^e:  la  litte^'rature  romantique  ou  chevaleresque  est  chez 

nous  indigene,  et  c*est  notre  religion  et  nos  institutions  oui 
I'ont  fait  eclore.”^ 

II 

The  Clearer  Conception  of  the  Renaissance 
in  the  Mid-Nineteenth  Century 

Such  national  and  racial  patriotism  prevented  the  other- 
wise appreciative  romanticists  from  understanding  the  fifteenth 
and  sixteenth  centuries.  For  the  conception  of  the  Renaissance  as 
a period  in  the  history  of  civilization  belongs  to  the  field  of 
comparative  studies.  The  movement  was  international,  it  passed 
from  one  country  to  another,  variously  but  profoundly  influencing 
people  after  people.  It  seems  therefore  to  be  an  interruption  of 

^De_  I’Allemagne.  2eme  e^'dition,  Paris  (1813).  I,  384. 

Ed.  cit.  I,  289.  Coleridge  discussed  the  same  subject  in  his 
lectures  in  1818.  See  hlg  InxjLa,  N.  Y.  (1868).  IV,  232-ff. 


, f ",  "ip h p t ■ ;p ■ ■! ','^Sf  ' 


'•■*  ■ ^ . . \-a t 4 -sl  -t- A % ^ 

. ’■  S^i . ^ '■ " ;■ ' ■ ■■ ' ' ' • ',  V'‘ 


. .y 


'!»->■ 


. V>0|J  •V'l ,T., 


0. ,,:  , ''^' 
» V"  #’C  < . 


K-'r  . ” :.i/i  :a  ;'i1 


' r>.  > r, ':,  ./.  ,■ , .,rX'  - . LVrf'-i  'f'-  'F^  .■yaJjyK.f/^-  ^ / 


.fcV 


^-..ilpl 


Vr>iv  ■'•* 


y ‘’’3b1a- i.-«f  £'A  >■  ■'•i  - :-  " r •'  Jj;  YdJSd  ' 

' .if  '*T.«^  'i'  '■ ' yi-,7 


10 


!| 

that  national  and  inligenons  development  which  the  Romanticists 
regarded  as  alone  truly  inward  and  genuine;  in  fact  the  introduction 
of  the  term  ’’Renaissance"  was  accompanied  by  a sharp  differentiation 
and  contrast  between  the  period  it  designates  and  the  Middle  Ages. 

It  comes  as  a surprise  to  the  reader  of  modern  historical  j 
literature  to  learn  that  the  term  "Renaissance"  as  a designation 
for  a period  in  the  history  of  civilization  has  been  current  little 
more  than  half  a century.^  The  Italians  used  the  word 
rinasoimento  as  early  as  the  latter  part  of  the  Eighteenth  century 
to  indicate  the  revival  of  art  and  letters,  but,  as  the  form  indi- 
cates, England  and  Germany  borrowed  the  term  from  France. 
Beyle-Stendhal  spoke  of  a "renaissance  des  arts,"  and  Guizot  and 
De  Stael  of  the  "renaissance  des  lettres."  In  1838  Libri  published 
his  Histoire  des  sciences  math^matigues  en  Italie  denuis  la 
Renaissance . "Da  ist,"  says  Goetz, ^ "so  viel  ich  sehe,  zum  ersten 
Male  das  Wort  in  dem  das  ganze  Zeitalter  umfassenden  Sinn  als 
allgemein  bekannt  vorausgesetzt . " But  the  first  histories  of  the 
whole  period  which  really  popularized  the  modern  conception  of  the 
Renaissance  were  Michelet's  seventh  volume  of  his  Histoire  de  la 
France,  which  appeared  in  1855  with  the  sub-title  Renaissance,  and 
Burckhardt's  Kultur  der  Renaissance  in  Italien  (i860),  which,  as 
Goetz  points  out,  was  in  some  points  indebted  to  Michelet. 

Michelet  expounds  his  views  in  a lengthy  introduction, 
and  they  are  not  flattering  to  the  Middle  Ages,-  "I'e'^tat  bizarre 
et  monstrueux,  prodigieusement  artificiel,  qui  fut  celui  du  Moyen- 

In  this  section  I am  following  especially  an  article  by  Walter 
^oetz,  Mittelalter  und  Renaissance.  Historische  Zeitsohrift.  Vol.98 
(1907),  30-54. 

^Op.  cit.  p.  46. 


/ 


i 


■s 


11 


age,  n’a  d' argument  en  sa  faveur  que  son  extreme  duree,  sa 
re'^sistance  obstin^e  au  retour  de  la  nature."  There  were  living 
forces,  mighty  enough  to  destroy  the  Middle  Ages,  in  the  12th 
cent'ury,  in  the  13th,  in  the  14th,  and  yet  it  was  agonizing  in  the 
15th  and  16th  and  at  last  expired  four  centuries  too  late.  "Ainsi 
dure  le  Moyen-age,  d'autant  plus  difficile  "a  tuer  qu'il  est  mort 
depuis  longtemps.  Pour  etre  tue'',  il  faut  vivre."^  Through  a hun- 
dred pages  of  eloquent,  but  violent,  prose,  Michelet  arraigns 
medieval  civilization  for  its  ignorance,  its  mechanizing  of  religion, 
its  disregard  for  nature  and  the  nat\iral,  its  syllogizing  philosophy^ 
in  short,  its  suppression  of  the  individual  by  authority  and  stereo- 
typed form.  There  were  numerous  efforts  towards  freedom  from  the 
Twelfth  century  to  the  Renaissance,  but  they  proved  abortive; 
authority  closed  door  after  door,  until  at  last  through  the  only 
neglected  portal,  that  of  art,  the  human  spirit  achieved  its  eman- 
cipation, and  authority  was  never  again  able  to  capture  and  confine 
it.  Thus  did  humanity  re— discover  itself,  and  the  modern  world  was 
born.  But  the  process  was  not  inevitable  in  any  sense  except  that 
in  which  heroism  in  the  face  of  oppression  is  inevitable.  For  the 
Renaissance  was  the  great  effort  of  humanity  bursting  its  chains. 
"Tout  I'honneur  en  sera  a I'^ie,  a la  volonte  he^roique."^ 

Of  Burokhardt ' s well-known  work,  a masterpiece  of  his- 
torical writing  and  still  the  authority 

unnecessary  to  speak  at  length.  A portrait  of  an  age,  a psycholog- 
ical study  of  an  epoch,  it  depicts  the  salient  characteristics  of 

^Michelet,  Oeuvres  Complete s.  Paris  (n.d).  VII,  9-10. 

Michelet,  ed.  cit.  VII,  100. 


■■ , W 


^<s  •!■  i 


''■''  '•  ' 4 ■''  * ■ '^'  *‘  ■'  » ' *'  *'  ':  ' ''  ' 


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# -Ufe  « 

J|g;_, ''sMj  » It  'rf -_■>''  > ■ iSr.- „(' ■ '. '-■',‘Vr'-^-  ‘ v'ik'-JwittL 't  V 

■^RJI»M,.,<j «,:«:.  ,.-■  a ■ ■ , ' 1,+,  i?;  ' »■  ■« 

tw  ' ^5#  H '?  - .f •*,  ^ ^ 't  « 

iV -€  ■»'■'  . i«;a(i'.' 


12 


the  Renaissance,  but  neglects  its  connections  with  the  periods  befoiB 
and  after.  The  chief  criticism  of  Burckhardt's  book  is  his  somewhat 
artificial  isolation  of  his  period.^  But  even  though  he  nowhere 
attacks  the  Middle  Ages  so  vehemently  as  Michelet,  it  is  clear 
enough  that  he  regards  them  as  characterized  by  a movement 
essentially  the  opposite  to  that  of  the  Renaissance.  The 
Renaissance  was  a period  of  individualism,  of  the  freedom  of  choice 
in  individual  development  which  makes  possible  living  as  a form  of 
art;  and  where  Burckhardt  finds  occasion  to  allude  to  Medievalism, 

p 

it  is  to  contrast  it  in  this  respect  with  the  Renaissance. 

Burckhardt,  however,  is  a more  philosophical  historian  than  Michelet, 
and  has  a more  profound  explanation  of  the  sources  of  this  individu- 
alism, He  does  not  consider  the  revival  of  antiquity,  the  new 
learning,  an  essential  in  the  movement  of  the  Renaissance,  although 
of  course  historically  it  has  to  be  treated,  inasmuch  as  it  colored 
and  quickened  the  whole  process;  but  it  is  ”one  of  the  chief 
propositions  of  this  book”  that  the  narrow  term,  "revival  of 
learning,"  does  not  correctly  designate  the  essential  intellectual 
and  spiritual  tendency  of  the  age.^ 

Two  great  historians  thus  created,  almost  simultaneously, 
the  current  impression  of  the  15th  and  16th  centuries  as  one  of  the 
great  ages  of  history,  primarily  because  it  was  permeated  by  the 
spirit  and  philosophy  of  individualism;  both  conceived  of  the  Middle 
Ages  as  a prison  house  of  humanity;  and  the  liberation  from  this 
Medieval  spirit  was  for  Michelet  an  important  result,  for  Burckhardt 

1 / 

^ Goetz,  op.  cit.  pp. 48-54.  Also  Gebhart,  Emile,  La  Renaissance 
itallenne  et  la  Phllosoohie  de  I'Histoire.  Revue  des  deux  Mondes. 

Vol.  72  (188517  342-379. 

^Burckhardt,  The  Renaissance  in  Italy,  London  (1909).  pp. 129,359. 

^Ed.  cit.  pp . ~1T1-I'72 . I 


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13 


th6  essence  itself, of  that  infinitely  complex  movement  which  carried 
the  intellect  and  imagination  of  Europe  to  such  supreme  achievement, 
and  which  we  have,  following  them,  denominated  the  re -birth  of 
humanity,  the  Renaissance. 

Ill 

The  Failure  of  English  Literary  History  to 
Apply  this  Conception  Thoroughly 

English  literary  history  has  not  been  much  tormented  with 
philosophic  questionings  as  to  its  nature  and  aim.  So  far  as  it  is 
possible  to  indicate  any  tendency  from  Warton  down  to  recent  years, 
it  has  been,  aside  from  writing  chronological  annals,  towards 
emphasizing  the  renaissance  of  arts  and  letters  after  the  manner  of 
Michelet,  rather  than  penetrating  to  Burckhardt's  deeper  interpreta- 
tion. It  was  of  course  inevitable  that  the  earliest  plans  of  the 
history  of  English  poetry,  those  of  Pope  and  Gray,  should  recognize 
the  grouping  of  poets  into  schools  and  point  out  the  prominent  for- 
eign influences.^  But  as  these  projected  histories  were  never 
written,  one  can  only  surmise  how  far  they  would  have  been  anything  | 
more  than  annalistic  descriptions  of  literary  groups.  Courthope 
brings  the  charge  against  Warton,  that  "though  he  saw  that  the  Origin 
of  Romantic  Fiction  and  the  Introduction  of  Learning  into  England 
were  both  intimately  associated  with  the  History  of  Poetry,  he  did 
not  treat  them  as  if  they  were  of  its  essence,  but  discussed  them 
separately,  incidentally,  in  a merely  archaeological  temper,  and 

J^The  plans  of  Pope  and  Gray  are  given  by  Courthope,  Historv  of  I 

English  Poetry.  I,  Preface,  vi-x.  ^ — 


''■•&■  ':>-'^  ■f-  ^•^•^^■S^,'^VT■?^5'••''•  '-■  • ■7’«»'-  ■ •‘■KWfei 

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■RM  ■;ir-'>V.'‘,  V'*'T  ' - • /'  •■  ;‘:‘>Y.  I 


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. .V'ix  tyvi- 

...V  ’■„,V-?  Sw<-  V. 


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.■'^;  ,... , „ , , ^ , ,.,,,^  

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fw.  v.s-  ■^\;,  / :J^^■  .... 

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* VA..  .Ilf 


14 


with  so  little  perception  of  their  necessary  relation  to  his  subject, 

that  he  gave  equal  prominence  to  a ’Dissertation’  on  the  Gesta 
1 

Roman or urn. ” Warton’s  history,  however,  was  something  more  than 

mere  annals;  it  was  a campaign  docimient.  As  a historian  he  had  to 
admit  the  fertilizing  influence  of  Classical  and  Italian  literature 
on  the  English;  but  he  was  always  suspicious  of  it,  he  could  never 
praise  it  heartily,  and  his  critical  judgment  was  based  on  a belief 
in  the  superior  value  of  the  "Gothic,”  the  indigenous  element  in 
English  literature.  The  "inundation  of  classical  pedantry,"  he 
wrote,  "soon  infected  our  poetry."  And  "the  early  Italian  poets 
disfigured,  instead  of  adorning,  their  works  by  attempting  to 
imitate  the  classics.  The  cha,rms  which  we  so  much  admire  in  Dante, 
do  not  belong  to  the  Greeks  and  Romans.  They  are  derived  from 
another  origin,  and  must  be  traced  back  to  a different  stock. 

Warton,  clearly  enough,  in  spite  of  the  antiquarian  and  annalistic 
manner  of  his  work,  expounded  the  Romantic  philosophy  of  history. 

But  what  was  true  of  Warton  has  been  true  of  English 
literary  history  in  general,  throughout  its  course.  It  has 
followed  more  or  less  faithfully,  but  vaguely  and  uncritically,  the 
shifting  conceptions  of  history  which  we  have  already  sketched.  The 
Romantic  critics  restored  the  Sixteenth  and  early  Seventeenth 
centuries,  along  with  the  Middle  Ages,  to  preeminence;  then  began  | 
the  process  of  classification  and  editing,  with  much  discussion  of 
the  "New  Age"  and  the  forces  that  were  made  to  account  for  it:  the 
Reformation,  Revival  of  Learning,  Discovery  of  America,  and  others; 

^Courthope,  op.  cit.  I,  xii. 

^History  of  English  Poetry,  ed.  Hazlitt  (1871).  IV,  357,191. 


finally  the  term  "Renaissance”  ms  introduced,  and  the  conception 
of  Burckhardt,  with  modifications,  has  become  current.  But  to 
illustrate  these  changes  in  the  large  would  require  too  much  space, 
and  they  can  better  be  indicated  by  a narrower  study  of  the 
successive  conceptions  of  the  so-called  "metaphysical"  school  of 
poetry,  a study  which  will  lead  us  back  to  the  subject  of  scepticism 
in  the  Renaissance. 

IV 

The  Partial  Application  of  the  New  Conception  of  the 
Renaissance  Illustrated  in  the  Criticism 
of  the  Metaphysical  Poets 

The  term  "metaphysical,"  applied  to  Donne  and  his 
followers,  although  popularized  by  Johnson's  Life  of  Cowley  (1779), 
was  used  before  by  others.  Dryden  seems  to  have  coined  it,  in 
speaking  of  Donne:  "He  affects  the  metaphysics,  not  only  in  his 

satires,  but  in  his  amorous  verses,  where  only  nature  should  reign. 
According  to  Spence,  Pope  used  it,  no  doubt  borrowing  it  from  Dryden.] 
D'Avenant,  Pope  said, was  "a  scholar  of  Donne's,  and  took  his  ; 

sententiousness  and  metaphysics  from  him."  And  "Cowley  is  a fine 
poet  in  spite  of  all  his  faults.  He,  as  well  as  D'Avenant,  borrowed 
his  metaphysical  turn  from  Donne. Thomas  Warton,  in  his 
Observations  on  the  Faery  Queen  of  Spenser  (1754),  uses  the  term  and 

supports  it  with  a theory  regarding  the  origin  of  this  school  of 
poets . 

^Essays,  ed.  cit.  II,  19. 

3 ^ I 

Spence ' s Anecdotes,  ed.  Murray,  London  (1820) . pp.  84,  96. 


■C, 




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16 


"After  the  Faery  Queen,  allegory  began  to  decline, 
and  by  degrees  gave  place  to  a species  of  poetry, 
whose  images  were  of  the  metaphysical  and  abstracted 
kind.  This  fashion  evidently  took  its  rise  from 
the  predominant  studies  of  the  times,  in  which  the 
disquisitions  of  school  divinity,  and  the  perplexed 
subtleties  of  philosophic  disputation,  became  the 
principal  pursuits  of  the  learned."^ 

Warton's  theory  gives  the  term  aptness.  But  there  is  no  real  con- 
sistency between  Johnson's  use  of  the  term  and  either  his  explana- 
tion of  the  nature  of  this  kind  of  poetry  or  his  theory  of  its 
origin.  The  "metaphysical"  poets  were  characterized,  he  said,  by 
a peculiar  species  of  wit.  True  wit  is  that 

"which  is  at  once  natural  and  new,  that  which  though 
not  obvious  is,  upon  its  first  production,  acknowledged 
to  be  just;  . . . to  wit  of  this  kind  the  metaphysical 
poets  have  seldom  risen  . . . But  wit  . . , may  be 
more  rigorously  and  philosophically  considered  as  a 
kind  of  discordia  ooncors:  a combination  of  dissimilar 
images,  or  discovery  of  occult  resemblances  in  things 
apparently  unlike.  Of  wit,  thus  defined,  they  have 
more  than  enough  . . . 

"This  kind  of  writing,  which  was,  I believe, 
borrowed  from  Marino  and  his  followers,  had  been 
recommended  by  the  example  of  Donne,  a man  of  very 
extensive  and  various  knowledge,  and  by  Jenson, 
whose  manner  resembled  that  of  Donne  more  in  the 
ruggedness  of  the  lines  than  in  the  cast  of  his 
sentiments. 

"When  their  reputation  was  high  they  had  un- 
doubtedly more  imitators  than  time  has  left  behind. 

Their  immediate  successors,  of  whom  any  remembrance 
can  be  said  to  remain,  were  Suckling,  Waller,  Denham, 
Cowley,  Cleij-eland,  and  Milton.  Denham  and  Waller 
sought  another  way  to  fame,  by  improving:  the  harmony 
of  our  numbers.  Milton  tried  the  metaphysick  style 
only  in  his  lines  upon  Hobson  the  Carrier.  Cowley 
adopted  it,  and  excelled  his  predecessors;  having  as 
much  sentiment  and  more  musick.  Suckling  neither 
improved  versification  nor  abounded  in  conceits. 

The  fashionable  style  remained  chiefly  with  Cowley: 


1 

Warton,  Observations  on  the  Faerv  Queen  of  Snenser.  3rd  ed.  . 
London  (1807).  II,  104.  


V , "J 


#' ' 

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17 

Sucklins:  could  not  reach  it,  and  Milton  disdained 
it."  1 ’ 

Gray,  in  his  letter  to  Warton,  gives  the  same  source  of  the  school, 

but  an  appropriately  different  name:  he  calls  it  "a  third  Italian 

school  full  of  conceit,  begun  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  time,  continued 

under  James  and  Charles  I.  by  Donne,  Crashav?,  Cleveland,  and  ends 

2 

perhaps  in  Sprat." 

Johnson's  criticism  has  been  the  chief  influence  on 
succeeding  scholarship  and  criticism  down  to  com.paratively  recent 
times.  Even  so  different  a critic  as  Hazlitt  praised  fervently 
Johnson's  slashing  denunciation  of  the "conceitists . Colerilffe 
read  the  prose  and  verse  of  Donne;  the  lecture  on  his  poetry  has 
not  been  preserved,  but  some  famous  verses  on  Donne  indicate  a 

4 

state  of  perplexed  appreciation.  Lamb,  who  loved  dusty  old  folios 
for  their  own  sake,  once  mentioned  in  a letter  to  Coleridge  "a  poet, 
very  dear  to  me,-  the  now-out-of-fashion  Cowley."^  Nevertheless, 
on  the  whole,  it  must  be  said  that  the  Romantic  critics,  fond  as 
they  were  of  restoring  Elizabethan  literature,  have  done  little 
more  for  this  group  than  the  earlier  neo-classicists.  The 
"conceitists"  are  difficult  to  classify  on  their  basis;  and  there- 
fore, as  Saintsbury  says,  "the  Caroline  age  was,  as  far  as  its 
poetical  development  went,  a little  slurred,  a little  pooh-poohed, 
and  by  a very  curious  illustration  of  the  extreme  difficulty  of 

of  tl^  Ppej^  ed.  Birkbeck  Hill,  Oxford  (1905).  I,  30-32. 

In  an  appendix,  p.  68,  the  editor  refers  to  the  use  of  the  term 
metaphysical"  by  Dryden  and  Pope,  but  says  nothing  of  ?/arton. 
^Courthope,  op.  cit.  I,  x. 

?J^2litt,  The  C_omic  Writers,  Lecture  III.  ed.  Waller  and  Glover, 

V H J.  ^ 4r9  • 

Works.  N.  Y. (1868) . IV,  286-7.  Notes  on  Donne's  prose: 
__^Lam.b.  .Letters,  ed.  Ainger.  I 


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18 


maintaining  literary  catholicity  this  mishap  of  falling  between  two 
schools  has  constantly  recurred  to  it."^ 

History  which  ignores  important  phenomena  will  inevitably 
be  revised.  But  progress  is  sometimes  slow  and  erudition  alone  does 
not  suffice.  Thus  Hallam  is_ able  to  point  out  an  error  in  facts  in 
Johnson. 

"This  style  Johnson  supposes  to  have  been  derived 
from  Marini.  But  Donne,  its  founder,  as  Johnson 
imagines,  in  England,  wrote  before  Marini.  It  is, 
in  fact,  as  we  have  lately  observed,  the  style  which, 
though  Marini  has  earned  the  discreditable  reputation 
of  perverting  the  taste  of  the  country  by  it,  had  been 
gaining  ground  through  the  latter  half  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  It  was,  in  a more  com.prehensive  view,  one 
modification  of  that  vitiated  taste  which  sacrificed 
all  ease  and  naturalness  of  writing  and  speaking  for 
the  sake  of  display.  The  mythological  erudition  and 
Grecisms  of  Ronsard's  school,  the  Euphuism  of  that  of 
Lilly,  the  'estilo  culto'  of  Gongora,  and  even  the 
pedantic  quotations  of  Burton  and  many  similar  writers, 
both  in  England  and  on  the  Continent,  sprang  like  the 
concetti  of  the  Italians,  and  of  their  English  imita- 
tors, from  the  same  source,  a dread  of  being  over- 
looked if  they  paced  on  like  their  neighbours . ”2 

In  spite  of  the  great  virtue  in  its  day  of  Hallam’ s wide  reading  of 
vernacular  Renaissance  literature,  his  defect  on  the  critical  side 
becomes  apparent  in  his  attribution  of  so  large  a part  of  it  to 
puerility;  and  on  the  same  page  he  says  that  in  the  poetry  of  Donne 
"it  would  perhaps  be  difficult  to  select  three  passages  that  we 
should  care  to  read  again."  Masson  answers  this  remark,  without 
making  himself,  however,  any  very  illuminating  suggestion:  "And 

yet,  in  reading  him,  one  can  see  that  the  admiration  of  his  contem- 
poraries was  not  a mere  pretence,  and  that,  as  his  conversation  was 
full  of  suggestion  to  men  who  were  far  better  poets  than  himself,  so 

\ 

I 

^Saintsbury,  History  of  Elizabethan  Literature.  N.  Y.(l912).  p.b88. 

Hallam,  Literature  of  Europe.  2nded.,  London  (1843).  11,31-32. 


^ - A . , W ■ . # 4-.  T-Jlr. 


I’  , fc*  ' :V?'-’  ■■ 


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19 


his  poetry  served  as  an  intellectual  gymnastic  where,  as  poetry,  it 
gave  but  little  pleasure.”^ 

Since  Masson,  criticism  of  Donne  and  his  followers  has 
become  much  more  enlightened,  and  the  studies  of  them  are  too 
numerous  to  be  mentioned  here.  Among  those  who  have  called  atten- 
tion to  Jacobean  and  Caroline  poetry  in  general,  mention  should  be 
made  of  Gosse  and  Saintsbury.  Schelling's  passing  discussion^ 
deserves  praise  as  one  of  the  most  intelligent,  keen,  enthusias- 
tically phrased  criticisms  of  Donne, in  his  purely  literary  aspects. 
But  recently  the  most  important  contributions  to  the  study  of  Donne 
and  his  school  have  been  by  Courthope,  PaLmer,  and  Grierson;  their 
studies  have  in  common,  very  significantly,  that  they  attempt  to 
relate  the  school  of  Donne  to  the  general  movement  of  the 
Renaissance,  in  its  modern  conception  since  Burckhardt;  and  on 
account  of  their  pertinence  to  the  subject  of  scepticism  they  desert 
quotation  more  at  length. 

Courthope  first  developed  his  theory  in  his  Life  of  Pope. 
where  he  points  out  the  superficiality  and  inadequacy  of  Hallam's 
facile  explanation,  and  declares  that  the  school  of  ”wit”  must  be 
"the  result  of  the  operation  of  similar  forces,  religious,  social, 
and  political,  and  of  the  influence  of  some  wide-spread  literary 
tradition.”  What  these  forces  were,  he  explains  again  in  sub-  I 

stantially  the  same  manner  in  his  later  History  of  English  Poetry: 
the  school  of  ”wit”  is  a survival  of  Medieval  scholasticism;  when 

^Masson,  Life  of  Milton.  Boston  (1859).  I,  377. 

, Rebelling,  A Book  of  Elizabethan  Lyrics.  Boston  (1895). 
Introduction,  xxi-xxiii. 

^Pope's  Works,  ed.  Elwell  and  Courthope,  London  (1889).  V,  52-61. 


V 


I si: ^ r,4jb.»Y*E4#oir> 

1 "*  'V'  •*  ■ ^ ' iL  •■'’■•  ' I - -w  ,'’-  . •'>  '■  -A.  iF  > : '' 

"■  ^ ^'*'  »,  ' '■  -’  ' f^.  h’  ' .1  "‘'  ' A : 'A.  ^ ’* 

" '-■•  ^ ‘..£  ^ r\. 


. ■ , 


,>-'  ;,tifj  i>i  J 6J  ;.C:  >li  a.li  '^•j;T4>vrj^!Slf#  ^Ji . 94 ' tisiSMo®' 

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. L?e0ti  jsaUfii^laf^p^  4'^t£io«^fe 


20 

the  true  Renaissance  at  last  triumphed,  the  school  of  "wit”  died. 

In  "wit"  there  were  three  essentials:  paradox,  hyperbole,  and 

excess  of  metaphor. 

"All  these  qualities,  which  flourish  exuberantly  in 
the  poetry  of  the  seventeenth  century,  appear  germinally 
in  the  poetry  of  the  fourteenth;  it  is  therefore  not  an 
unfair  conclusion  that  they  belong  to  a single  system  of 
thought,  and  that  their  predominance  in  the  later  age 
signifies  the  efflorescence  of  decay. 

"(l)  The  habit  of  startling  the  imagination  with 
paradoxical  reasoning  about  the  order  of  the  universe, 
physical  and  moral,  which  is  so  striking  a character-’ 
istic  of  the  metaphysical  school  of  Donne,  is,  I think, 
the  final  result  of  the  exaggerated  importance  attached 
by  the  schoolmen  to  the  study  of  logic  . . . 

"(2)  With  the  habit  of  reasoning  paradoxically  was 
intimately  associated  the  habit  of  writing  hyper- 
bolically.  The  spirit  of  the  logician  penetrated  not 
only  the  poetry  which  derived  its  inspiration  from 
theology,  but  also  that  which  had  its  source  in 
chivalrous  action  and  sentiment  . . . 

"(3)  . . . the  excessive  use  of  metaphor  is  to  be 
explained  by  the  decay  of  allegory  as  a natural  mode 
of  poetical  expression."^ 

In  another  passage  Courthope  speaks  of  scholasticism  as  defunct  by 
the  time  of  Donne;  in  the  sphere  of  reason  the  Renaissance  is  char- 
acterized by  "a  new  kind  of  Pyrrhonism,"  represented  by  Montaigne. 

And  "many  poets,  in  their  ideal  representations  of  Nature,  seized 
upon  the  rich  materials  of  the  old  and  ruined  philosophy  to  decorate 
the  structures  which  they  built  out  of  their  lawless  fancy.'  On  such! 
foundations  rose  the  school  of  metaphysical  wit,  of  which  the 
earliest  and  most  remarkable  example  is  furnished  in  the  poetry  of 
John  Donne. "2 


Courthope,  Hist,  of  Eng.  Poetry.  London  (1911).  Ill,  103-117. 
Courthope ‘s  "large  views"  are  always  stimulating  (even  where  they 
have  been  shown  to  be  wrong).  For  instance, his  short  discussion  of 
xhe  term  "Renaissance,"  "a  phrase  at  once  misleading  and  obscure, "in 
volume  I,  158-9,  is  a very  helpful  warning  to  the  reader  of  Burckharci 

^Courthope,  op.  cit.  Ill,  147-8. 


21 


I 


Leslie  Stephen,  in  a recent  essay  on  Donne, ^ takes  a 
similar  view: 

"In  one  way  Donne  has  partly  become  obsolete  because 
he  belonged  so  completely  to  the  dying  epoch.  The 
scholasticism  in  which  his  mind  was  steeped  was  to 
become  hateful  and  then  contemptible  to  the  rising 
philosophy;  the  literature  which  he  assimilated  went 
to  the  dust-heaps;  preachers  condescended  to  drop 
their  doctorial  robes;  do'wnright  commonsense  came 
in  with  Tillotson  and  South  in  the  next  generation; 
and  not  only  the  learning  but  the  congenial  habit 
of  thought  became  unintelligible.”^ 

George  Herbert  Palmer,  however,  emphasizes  the  modern 

element  in  the  same  writers;  he  considers  the  peculiar  style  of  the 

"metaphysical,”  or  as  he  prefers  to  call  them,  psychological,  poets, 

peculiarly  the  product  of  their  own  age,  its  individualism,  its 

spirit  of  rebellion  against  authority,  its  introspection. 

"Certain  general  tendencies  of  Herbert’s  time,”  he 
says,  "combined  with  the  peculiarities  of  his  own 
nature  to  bring  about  this  new  poetry.  Individualism 
was  abroad,  disturbing  'the  unity  and  married  calm  of 
states, ’ and  sending  its  subtle  influence  into  every 
department  of  English  life.  The  rise  of  Puritanism 
was  but  one  of  its  manifestations.  Everywhere  the 
Renaissance  movement  pressed  toward  a return  to 
nature  and  an  assertion  of  the  rights  of  the  individual. 

At  its  rise  these  tendencies  were  partially  concealed. 

Its  first  fruits  were  delivery  from  oppressive  serious- 
ness, a general  emancipation  of  human  powers,  the 
enrichment  of  daily  life,  beauty,  splendor,  scholar- 
ship, a quickened  and  incisive  intelligence.  But  as 
it  advanced,  the  Renaissance  opened  doors  to  all  kinds 
of  self-assertion.  Each  person,  each  desire,  each 
opinion,  became  clamorous  and  set  up  for  itself, 
regardless  of  all  else.  In  its  remoteness  England 
was  tardy  in  feeling  these  disintegrating  influences. 

The  splendor,  too,  of  the  Renaissance  was  somewhat 
dimmed  in  Italy  and  France  before  it  shone  on  the 
age  of  Elizabeth.  There  it  found  a society  excep- 
tionally consolidated  under  a forceful  Queen.  Foreign 
dangers  welded  the  nation  together.  It  is  doubtful 
if  at  any  other  period  of  its  history  has  the  English 
people  believed,  acted,  enjoyed,  and  aspired  so 
nearly  like  a single  person  as  during  the  first  three 


^Th^  National  Reydej?.  (1899).  Vol.34,  613. 


I'  ^ • * 

-...i  i ' 


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f 


•j 

i' 

I 

I 

Jij 


■'■j.  ■ -,? 


22^ 

\ 


quarters  of  the  age  of  Elizabeth.  She,  her  great 
ministers,  andthe  historical  plays  of  Shakespeare 
set  forth  its  ideals  of  orderly  government. 

Spenser's  poem  consummated  its  ideals  of  orderly 
beauty,  as  did  Hooker's  Ecclesiastical  Polity  those 
of  an  orderly  church.  Men  in  those  days  marched 
together.  Dissenters,  either  of  a religious, 
political,  or  artistic  sort,  were  few  and  despised. 

"But  change  was  impending.  A second  period  of 
the  Renaissance  began,  a period  of  introspection, 
where  each  man  was  prone  to  insist  on  the  importance 
of  whatever  was  his  own.  At  the  coming  of  the 
Stuarts  this  great  change  was  prepared,  and  was 
steadily  fostered  by  their  inability  to  comprehend 
it.  In  science.  Bacon  had  already  questioned 
established  authority  and  sent  men  to  nature  to 
observe  for  themselves.  In  government,  the  king's 
prerogative  was  speedily  questioned,  and  Parliament  s- 
became  so  rebellious  that  they  were  often  dismissed. 

A revolution  in  poetic  taste  was  under  way.  Spenser's 
lulling  rhythms  and  bloodless  heroes  were  being  dis- 
placed by  the  jolting  and  passionate  realism  of 
Donne . " ^ 

The  exuberance  of  the  Elizabethan  age  was  therefore  turned  into 
new  channels.  "The  soul  of  man  took  the  place  of  the  outer  world, 
while  the  old  delight  in  daring  and  difficult  tasks  appeared  in 
this  new  sphere  as  a kind  of  intellectual  audacity  and  an  ardent 
exploration  of  mental  enigmas.  To  how  many  strange  theories  did 
this  England  of  the  first  half  of  the  seventeenth  century  give 
rise!  To  exploit  a new  doctrine  became  more  exciting  than  a voyage 
to  the  Spanish  main."^ 

Grierson  accepts  Courthope's  historical  explanation  of 
Donne  as  sound,  but  thinks  that  it  leaves  unexplained  and  undefined 
"the  interest  which  Donne's  poetry  still  has  for  us,  not  as  a his- 
torical phenomenon,  but  as  poetry."  His  own  study^  is  an  attempt 


^^T^  English  Works  of  George  Herbert,  ed.  Palmer,  Boston  (1905)  . 
^Op.cit.  pp.  155-156. 

Poems  of  John  Donne,  Oxford  (1913)  . II,  Introduction. 


■■'  _.  oiwinTiSwM'-  wna  'te;*-i<^‘'  ^ ' ■•■i 


,'v  *^yn  \^\  ; ■ ‘ *^'’ 

c'  "^*^4 , ; 


■ET'^^-.  ..,1*;^^  ^■oQj?,ov^t’-^  T'3  '5;x  -V^ 

fc“'  " 7.'i? i ii' i ■ 'ii : :;  tjrjfco^iqj; ' fA;  n*?  ‘ .'' 


• j 


23 


to  understand  how  the  various  contradictory  elements  in  Donne's 
nature  were  combined  in  the  poetic  genius.  I shall  quote  only  from 
Grierson's  discussion  of  Donne's  love  poetry,  as  the  best  illustra- 
tion of  his  method: 

"Donne's  love  poetry  is  a very  complex  phenomenon, 
but  the  two  dominant  strains  in  it  are  just  these: 
the  strain  of  dialectic,  subtle  play  of  argument 
and  wit,  erudite  and  fantastic;  and  the  strain  of 
vivid  realism,  the  record  of  a passion  which  is 
not  ideal  or  conventional,  neither  recollected  in 
tranquillity  nor  a pure  product  of  literary  fashion, 
but  love  as  an  actual,  immediate  experience  in  all 
its  moods,  gay  and  angry,  scornful  and  rapturous 
with  joy,  touched  with  tenderness  and  darkened  with 
sorrow  — though  these  last  two  moods,  the  commonest 
in  love-poetry,  are  with  Donne  the  rarest.  The  first 
of  these  strains  comes  to  Donne  from  the  Middle  Ages, 
the  dialectic  of  the  Schools,  which  passed  into 
medieval  love-poetry  almost  from  its  inception; 
the  second  is  the  expression  of  the  new  temper  of 
the  Renaissance  as  Donne  has  assimilated  it  in  Latin 
countries. " 

Grierson,  in  a comparison  between  Ovid  and  Donne,  notes  the  deep 

difference  which  the  careful  reader  soon  discerns  underneath  the 

apparent  similarity;  so  also  with  Burns  and  Catullus. 

"Burns  gets  no  further  than  the  experience,  Catullus 
than  the  obvious  and  hedonistic  reflection  that  time 
is  flying,  the  moment  of  pleasure  short.  In  Donne's 
4.nnive rsarie  one  feels  the  quickening  of  the 
brain,  the  vision  extending  its  range,  the  passion 
gathering  sweep  with  the  expanding  rhythms,  and  from 
the  mind  thus  heated  and  inspired  emerges,  not  a cry 
that  time  might  stay  its  course,  . . , but  a clearer 
consciousness  of  the  eternal  significance  of  love, 
not  the  love  that  aspires  after  the  unattainable, 
but  the  love  that  unites  contented  hearts." 

Donne's  poetry  is  thus  truly  "psychological,"  as  Palmer  has  pointed 

out,  for  it  is  a study  of  the  psyche  or  soul  of  man;  it  may  be 

called  "metaphysical"  in  Dryden's  rather  than  Johnson's  sense,  in 

that  it  is  the  product  of  great  spiritual  and  intellectual  effort.  ! 


Palmer,  F^ormative  Types  in  English  Poetry  (1918).  p.l03. 


I 


i 


s 


>■ 


r' 

ii 


f 


t 


In  Donne's  religious  verse  there  is  none  of  the  "natural  love  of 
God  which  overflows  the  pages  of  the  great  mystics,"  hut  "effort 
is  the  note  which  predominates  — the  effort  to  realize  the  majesty 
of  God,  the  heinousness  of  sin,  the  terrors  of  Hell,  the  mercy  of 
Christ. "1  Donne's  peculiar  style  is  therefore  not  to  be  explained, 
after  the  manner  of  Johnson  and  Hallam,  as  a mere  affectation,  as 
the  survival  of  outworn  rhetoric;  it  has  its  sources  in  his  inner 
conflicts,  in  his  curiosity  about  the  subjective,  in  the  intellec- 
tual urge  of  his  nature.  To  understand  the  "wits"  of  the  period, 
we  must  study  their  problems  in  understanding  the  world. 

"Donne's  qualities,"  to  quote  Courthope  again,^"were 
essentially  those  of  his  age  . . . To  those  who  see 
in  poetry  a mirror  of  the  national  life,  and  who 
desire  to  amplify  and  enrich  their  own  imagination 
by  a s^pathetic  study  of  the  spiritual  existence 
of  their  ancestors,  the  work  of " Donne  will  always 
be  profoundly  interesting.  No  more  lively  or 
characteristic  representative  can  be  found  of  the 
thought  of  an  age  when  the  traditions  of  the 
ancient  faith  met  in  full  encounter  the  forces  of 
the  new  philosophy.  The  shock  of  that  collision 
is  far  from  having  spent  its  effect,  even  in  our 
07m  day;  and  he  who  examines  historically  the  move- 
ments of  imagination  will  find  in  Donne's  subtle 
analysis  and  refined  paradoxes  much  that  helps  to 
throw  light  on  the  contradictions  of  human  nature." 

It  is  important  for  the  purposes  of  this  study  to  note 
how  unanimous  is  the  conception  of  the  Renaissance  as  a period  of 
individualism,  of  escape  from  Medievalism,  hence  of  disintegration 
and  scepticism.,  and  that  this  conception  is  made  to  explain  the  mis- 
understood poets  of  the  school  of  Donne.  We  have  therefore  in  this 
narrow  section  of  English  literary  history  a development  analogous 


Grierson,  op.  cit.  p.li. 
history  of  English  Poetry.  II,  167-8. 


. -4< 


V*i  >.  A#iM 


;\f^T 


V 


■*  1 

i 

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25 


to  that  which  we  have  already  noted  in  the  general  study  of  the 
Renaissance,  and  no  doubt  directly  influenced  by  the  latter.  But 
at  the  same  time,  the  contra^dictions  are  suggestive.  Courthope 
thinks  the  metaphysical  poets  were  survivals  of  medievalism,  Palm.er 
that  they  were  anticipators  of  the  modern  mind,  Grierson  that  they 
were  both.  The  problem  raised  here  can  be  solved  only  by  a more 
thorough  and  better  documented  account  of  the  thought  of  these  poets, 
and  its  relation  to  the  intellectual  milieu  of  the  Renaissance. 

V 

The  Purpose  of  this  Study 

To  summarize  the  results  of  this  "history  of  history,"  

modern  scholarship  has  arrived  at  the  conception  of  the  Renaissance 
as  a period  of  individualism  which  manifested  itself  on  the  critical 
side  as  a liberation  from  Medievalism  and  on  the  creative  side  as  a 
sense  of  power  which  made  the  age  one  of  the  supreme  achievements  in 

history.  In  such  a period  of  great  ferment,  of  conflict  of  ideas,  

therefore  truly  a transition  period  intellectually  — we  would 
naturally  expect  scepticism  to  play  a large  part,  not  merely  as  a 
ijustifioation  of  libertine  ethics,  or  even  of  individualism  for  its 
own  sake,  but  as  one  of  the  intellectual  forces  transforming  the 
medieval  mind  into  the  modern.  And  this  phase  of  the  Renaissance  in 
Italy  and  France  has  in  the  last  three  or  four  decades  been  quite 
extensively  discussed. 

The  Italian  Renaissance,  which  the  reader  of  Ascham  remem- 
bers as  scandalously  irreligious  and  immoral,  did  not  produce  any  one 
writer  of  European  significance  who  can  be  considered  primarily  a 


:;1‘  ^'■■’"V?  , ' ' , '‘  ^ 

'"  ' ' Iv  •'  . :"•■  •'  ■ .h  ' i#ii "'Vlirf® ‘i 


' AV>: 


■'  ■■■:  ■/■ 


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. > V.  3J 

- T/-y 


III  • /|‘i-  i'.-:  ■.^■r-  " ' •*<;' 


iij/"'' •■-  '^  ■ ' ’ ' V-f''  ’■  ' ' ■'  ■•  - ■ ' 


26 

representative  of  the  sceptical  spirit,  except  perhaps 
Macchiavelli.  But  more  than  in  any^country  in  Europe  there  was  a 
wide  and  subtle  diffusion,  even  to  the  very  heart  of  the  papal 
Curia,  of  a very  modern  spirit  of  unbelief  and  criticism;  as  every 
history  of  the  Italian  Renaissance,  therefore,  has  had  to  describe 
it,  there  is  the  less  need  for  a special  treatise  on  the  subject. 
But  every  student  is  under  obligation  to  the  scholarly  volume  by 
John  Owen,  written  in  a spirit  of  moralistic  liberalism,  especially 
valuable  for  its  appreciation  of  the  historical  function  of 
scepticism. ^ 

Montaigne  and  Pascal  have  long  directed  the  attention  of 
French  students  to  the  scepticism  of  the  Renaissance,  but  only 
recently  has  their  relation  to  the  general  current  of  Pyrrhonism 
been  carefully  studied.  M.  Pierre  Villey,  in  a remarkable  work 
which  for  the  first  tim.e  gives  a full  and  documented  mental  bio- 
graphy of  Montaigne,  has  described  with  great  thoroughness  the 
influence  on  him  of  Sextus  Empiricus.^  M.  Fortunat  Strowski  has 
discussed  in  his  Histoire  ^ Sentiment  Religieux  en  France  au  XVIIe 
Slecle,  in  connection  with  Pascal,  some  of  the  religious  and  moral 
aspects  of  the  liber tins;  but,  writing  in  the  spirit  of  a loyal 
Catholic,  he  is  not  sympathetic  with  these  more  trivial  and  super- 
ficial manifestations  of  scepticism  between  Montaigne  and  Pascal.^ 
The  spirit  of  incredulity  in  the  Seventeenth  century  has  been  more 
impartially  described  by  Perrens."^  And  John  Owen's  volume  on  the 


London^  (1908)  Sceptics  of  the  Italian  Renaissance . 3rd  ed. 

^2viiiey,_Pierre,  Le£  Sources  ^ L 'Evolution  des  Essais  de  Montaigne, 
S^Vols.,  Paris  (19017.  "" — 

_ Strowski,  F.,  Pascal  et  son  Temps.  Vol.  I,  De  Montaii2:ne  a Pascal. 

4:|h  ed.,  Paris  (1909)  . 

____Per^ns,  F.  T.,  Les  Libertins  en  France,  Paris  (1899)  . 


27 

French  Renaissance  is  distinguished  by  the  same  sympathetic  insight 
as  his  study  of  the  Italians  already  referred  to.^  John  M. 
Robertson  has  succeeded  in  discussing,  or  at  least  naming,  every 
note.Torthy  heretical  thinker,  from  antiquity  to  the  present,  in  a 
comprehensive  work  which  makes  little  pretension  to  any  philosophi- 
cal grasp  of  historical  movements,  but  which  is  a valuable  summary 
and  manual.  Articles  and  volumes  which  deal  incidentally  or  par- 
tially with  phases  of  scepticism  are  so  numerous  that  obligations 
to  them  can  be  acknowledged  only  as  they  occur  throughout  the  pages 
that  follow. 

But  when  we  come  to  the  English  field,  we  find  that  the 
sceptical  element  in  the  thought  and  literature  of  the  Renaissance 
has  been  almost  entirely  neglected.  No  consecutive  account  has 
been  made  of  it.  The  materials  for  such  a study  are  still 
scattered  through  many  volumes.^  The  suggestions  of  Courthope, 


Owen,  John,  Th^  Skeptics  of  the  French  Renaissance.  London  (1893) . 
(I906)^^2°vols°^^  ~ History  of  Free thought . 2nd  ed. , N.Y. 

^Einstein  (Itajd^  Renaissance  in  England.  N.Y. ,1902)  discusses  the 
Italian  danger  , pp.  155-175;  and  the  influence  of  Macchiavelli  on 
English  political  ideas,  pp.  291-307. 

A.  H.  Upham  (French  Influence  in  English  Literature . N.Y.  1908)  in  a 
chapter  on  Montaigne  points  out  the  indebtedness  of  several  English 
writers  to  the  Essais.  but  does  not  accord  any  importance  to  the 
borrowing  of  sceptical  ideas. 

Sidney  Lee  (Fre^h  Renaissance  in  England.  N.  Y.  ,1910)  discusses  the 

Montaigne's  influence,  pp. 165-179;  and  pp.  323- 
328  he  deals  briefly  with  the  vogue  in  England  of  Peter  Ramus, 
r eui lie rat/ (John  Lyly , Cambridge,  1910)  has  some  pages  on  the  cor- 
rupting influence  of  Italy,  as  an  explanation  of  a passage  in 
Euphues.  These  merely  incidental  references  to  scepticism  are 
tpical  of  the  discussion  of  it  in  English  literary  history.  But 
often  it  is  ignored  completely,  as  in  E.  Hershey  Sneath's  Philosophy 


in^Poetry_,  N.  Y.,1903,  a volume  devoted  to  Sir  John  Davies's  Nosce 
ieipsum.  with  no  recognition  whatever  of  any  direct  connect ion~of 
the  poem  with  Renaissance  currents  of  thought. 

J.  J.  Jusserand  (Literary  History  of  the  English  People.  N.Y.  1906) 


■ 10.  t'.<ilittftfc»*lJi!  5ii/iii»eoS^  e*i 

■'.. v^v'."-  . ' \ ■ T/ -.;Si i?  ,_.i®'' 


28 


Palmer  and  Grierson  are  most  helpful  and  encouraging  to  the 
investigator  who  considers  the  subject  important,  but,  general  and 
undocumented,  they  are  hardly  more  than  suggestions.  This  tardiness 
in  English  studies  as  compared  with  French  and  Italian  is  to  be 
accounted  for  partly  by  the  characteristic  English  neglect  of  the 
history  of  ideas  in  literature,  and  partly  by  the  fact  that 
scepticism  produced  no  Anglo-Saxon  Montaigne  or  Pascal  to  draw 
attention  to  its  historical  importance,  no  notorious  archbishop  of 
Canterbury  who  was  reputed  to  doubt  the  immortality  of  the  soul  and 
the  authenticity  of  the  Bible.  For  its  existence  in  the  more 
extreme  forms  in  England  the  evidence  is  often  slight  and  largely 
indirect,  usually  in  polemics  against  freethought;  in  its  milder 
forms  it  has  corresponded  so  closely  with  our  current  manner  of 
thought  that  its  novelty  and  significance  in  the  sixteenth  century 
has  not  been  noticed. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  this  unobtrusiveness,  the  spirit  of 
scepticism  was  everywhere  at  work  in  the  English  Renaissance.  It 
formed  no  school  or  definite  tradition,  for  scepticism  is  more  a 
state  of  mind  than  a doctrine.  It  is  an  attack  on  doctrine,  and 
where,  as  in  Greek  and  Roman  philosophy,  there  persists  for  cen- 
turies a continuous  sceptical  tradition,  it  is  because  the  doctrine 
attacked  — in  this  case  Stoicism  — continued  to  lay  itself  open 
to  criticism.  Scepticism,  the  essence  of  which  is  opposition  to  the 

usually  conveys  admirably  the  temper  of  whatever  age  he  discusses, 
but  he  has  neglected  the  scepticism  of  the  Renaissance. 

To  expand  this  list  would  be  only  to  multiply  the  evidence  of 
either  cursory  treatment  or  absolute  neglect  in  English  literary 
history  of  this  important  element  in  the  Renaissance.  But  this 
deficiency  is  not  more  singular  than  some  others;  where  can  we  read 
a connected  and  thorough  account  of  such  other  obvious  elements  in 
the  English  Renaissance  as  Stoicism  and  Platonism? 


I 


dogmatio  temper,  is  therefore  as  various  as  dogma,  taking  all  forms, 
playing  like  a corroding  flame  now  on  this  surface,  now  on  that, 
multi-colored,  evanescent,  disappearing  as  soon  as  it  succeeds. 

It  is  with  this  sceptical  temper  as  exhibited  in  the 
literature  and  thought  of  the  English  Renaissance  that  this  inves- 
tigation is  concerned.  If  our  assumption  regarding  the  historical 
role  of  scepticism  is  correct,  a connected  presentation  of  its 
development  and  diffusion  should  orient  us  in  the  study  of  the 
currents  of  thought  in  English  literature  in  the  sixteenth  and 
seventeenth  centuries.  What  conflicts  of  ideas  had  a determining 
influence  on  the  course  of  the  literature  of  that  time?  In  what 
way  did  Medievalism  still  dominate  the  minds  of  men?  What  forms  did 
reaction  to  it  assume?  Is  the  so-called  Pyrrhonism  of  John  Donne’s 
early  poetry  merely  a "sport"  in  the  evolution  of  thought,  or  has 
it  some  connection  with  the  scepticism  of  the  age?  What  was  the 
position,  as  regards  scholasticism,  of  English  science,  of  Bacon, 
of  the  Royal  Society?  Did  scepticism  have  anything  to  do  with  the 
rise  of  Deism,  the  distinctively  English  school  of  thought  which 
gradually  conquered  Europe?  Was  there  in  England  any  such  recon- 
cilement of  scepticism  and  mystical  piety  as  is  familiar  to  us  in 
Pascal?  Finally,  we  should  after  these  studies  be  able  to  state 
more  accurately  what  we  mean  by  the  "modern  mind"  as  distinguished 
from,  and  developed  out  of, the  thought  of  the  Renaissance.  And  per- 
haps one  may  hope  that  such  a historical  account  of  scepticism  in 
one  of  the  critical  period  of  thought  will  even  be  helpful  towards 
forming  that  absolute  evaluation  which  we  began  by  distingiaishing 
as  the  prerogative  of  the  philosopher. 


. ..V  ^ 'JT-  » 

> '»5I'  r *«  ^1*  p 


rmr  ,'^4(v  t/^-  i e i«:if’y ' , Si.  yjC'V'  •-  ■■'»  i ^ ' ’ 3^P  , 

h/^i»  J rf.¥M*^S'»  ^W■  .■<  ) . 'V'^i * »<'^*^■^*l/^^T.' w ^ _ <'^t4l.'firf*  A2^£(^i/ta~  'irrt  " ' 

rmw . it  ■ 

sr'*^ 


k L^'  •■.  ,.  «ii 


V.i^,^,;  Cllr  V,.  .i/ai-,  ■ ..i?. 


CHAPTER  ONE 


THE  DISSOLUTION  OF  MEDIEVALISM,  AND  THE  DEVELOPMENT 
OF  SCEPTICISM  IN  THE  RENAISSANCE 

I.  The  Problem  of  Universale.-  II.  D’aalism  of  Faith  and 
Reason.-  III.  The  Comparative  Study  of  Religions.-  IV.  The 
Reformation.-  V.  Paganism:  the  Culture  of  the  Libertines. - 
VI.  The  Revival  of  Greek  Scepticism. 

In  one  of  the  tales  in  the  Decameron. ^ Boccaccio  narrates 
of  Guido  Cavalcanti,  the  cultivated  and  lettered  gentleman,  one  of 
the  best  logicians  in  the  world,  an  excellent  natural  philosopher, 
but  guilty  of  that  slight  tincture  of  independence  of  thought  in 
religious  matters  which  was  then  stigmatised  as  "Epicureanism, ”3 
that  as  he  walked  abstractedly  in  the  streets  of  Florence,  the  honest 
burghers,  ge.nte  volgare,  said  that  his  speculations  were  merely  a 
search  after  proofs  that  God  does  not  exist.  The  incident  symbolizes 
the  spirit  of  the  Middle  Ages  with  its  narrow  bounds,  its  subordina- 
tion to  authority,  its  distrust  of  liberal  humanistic  culture.  And 
yet  these  medieval  bourgeois  of  Florence  were  justified  in  fearing 
Such  troubled  meditation  as  a sign  of  an  uncertain  groping  that  was 
then  considered  the  most  dangerous  error,  intellectually  and  spiritu- 
ally. In  medieval  thought  the  possibility  of  knowledge  was  axio- 
matic; the  human  mind  must  be  fitted  to  know  reality,  and  reality 
must  be  such  that  it  can  be  known.  "Knowledge,"  says  Dante,  at  the 
beginning  of  the  Convivio,  "is  the  distinguishing  perfection  of  our 

^Sixth  day,  ninth  novella. 


31 


1 


soul,  wherein  consists  our  distinguishing  blessedness."  And  the 
chief  impediment  within  the  soul  to  this  perfection  appears  "when 
vice  hath  such  supremacy  in  her  that  she  giveth  herself  to  pursuing 
vicious  delights,  wherein  she  is  deluded  to  such  a point  that  for 
their  sake  she  holds  all  things  cheap. Only  a debased  character, 
it  was  thought,  could  be  torm.ented  by  doubt,  and  therefore  those  who 
were  suspected  of  ruminating  over  the  essentials  of  salvation  were 
significantly  called  "Epicureans,"  a term  which  remained  current  in 
that  sense  from  the  thirteenth  century  to  the  seventeenth. 

To  appreciate  the  compelling  power  which  this  rigid  and 
intolerant  orthodoxy  exercised  over  the  medieval  mind,  we  must 
remember  the  work  Medievalism  had  to  do  after  the  Barbarian  inva- 
sions and  the  Dark  Ages,  namely,  to  organize  and  institutionalize 
*^^^iTization.  In  the  intellectual  as  well  as  political  and 
ecclesiastical  spheres,  it  had  to  restore  order  and  authority.  As 
organization  proceeded,  each  authority  was  expected  to  bow  to  higher 
authority  until  centralization  should  be  complete,  and  the  world 
ruled  by  edicts  of  the  Emperor,  the  Pope,  and  the  University  of 
Paris.  In  the  Middle  Ages,  therefore,  the  reason  could  not  be  free; 
it  was  the  handmaid  to  theology.  It  was  expected  to  elucidate  a 
prescribed  canon,  but  it  was  denied  the  right  to  criticise  this 
canon.  Such  was  the  Medieval  ideal,  inspiring  a great  constructive 
effort.  But  the  ideal  was  impossible  of  realization,  the  effort 
required  too  great.  Baffled  humanity  grew  critical,  sceptical,  and 
sought  its  blessedness  by  new  paths.  The  way  to  truth,  which  to  the 
thinkers  of  the  Middle  Ages  was  broad  and  straight,  is  to  the  modern 

Temple  translation.  London  (n.d).,  pp.  1-2. 


i 


i 


■ • ’ i I ' ^ 

. Jk  Ji- 


32 


mind  a labyrinth.  In  the  words  of  John  Donne, 

"On  a huge  hill, 

Dragged,  and  steep.  Truth  stands,  and  hee  that  will 
Reach  her,  about  must,  and  about  must  goe."l 

The  greatest  and  most  imposing  work  of  medieval  thought  is  the 

Summa  Theplogica  of  Thomas  Aquinas,  a systematization  of  religion 

by  means  of  rational  demonstration;  the  greatest  achievement  in 

philosophy  of  the  opposite,  the  modern  temper,  is  the  critical 

philosophy  of  Kant,  at  once  profoundly  sceptical  and  profoundly 
believing. 

I. 

The  Problem  of  Universals 

The  great  intellectual  struggle  which  determined  the 


formulation  of  scholastic  philosophy  was  the  conflict  between 
Nominalism  and  Realism.  The  problem  involved  was  no  barren  or 
artificial  one;  it  was  the  problem  of  the  validity  of  knowledge, 
still  debated  and  often  in  terms  not  far  different  from  those  of 
the  scholastics.  It  had  been  formulated  for  medieval  students  by 
Porphyry,  in  his  Isagoge . an  introduction  to  the  Logic  of 
Aristotle,  in  a short  passage  worth  quoting: 


^Donne,  John;  Satire  n_I,  Poems . ed.  Grierson,  0xford(l912) . p,157. 

Born  232  A.D  A pupil  of  Longinus  and  Plotinus.  See  Erdmann, 
History  pf  Philosophy.  London  (1898).  Vol.  I,  245-6. 

In  this  survey  of  scholasticism  I am  especially  indebted  to  Erdmann, 
article  by  Andrew  Seth  Pringle-Pattison  in  Encvc.  Brit.  11th 
ea. ; Punier,  Bernhard,  History  of  the  Christian  Phi 
Rg.ligiop,  English  trans^  Edinburgh's^) ; Webb,  C.C.J.,  Studies  in 
Hlstp^  gf  Nabu^  Theology,  Oxford  (1915);  Rashdall,  “HastingsT 
iM.  Universities  of  Europe  tM.  Middle  Ages,  Oxford  (1895) 


‘^a 


! 


33 


"Next,  concerning  genera  and  species,  the  question 
indeed  whether  they  have  a substantial  existence,  or  whether 
they  consist  in  bare  intellectual  concepts  only,  or 
whether  if  they  have  a substantial  existence  they  are 
corporeal  or  incorporeal,  and  whether  they  are  separable 
from  the  sensible  properties  of  the  things  (or  particu- 
lars of  sense) , or  are  only  in  those  properties  and  sub- 
sisting about  them,  I shall  forbear  to  determine.  For  a 
question  of  this  kind  is  a very  deep  one  and  one  that 
requires  a longer  investigation."^ 


The  question  was,  in  short,  whether  universals  exist.  The 
Realists,  influenced  by  the  Platonic  doctrine  of  Ideas  vwhich  had 
filtered  dovm  to  them  through  the  Dark  Ages,  affirmed  that  univer- 
sals have  a real  existence  apart  from  the  mind  which  knows  them. 
Logically,  this  Realism  was  beset  with  the  danger  of  Pantheism. 

For  there  must  be  a hierarchy  of  universals  and  the  highest 
universal  of  all  must  be  God;  now,  since  no  individual  object  was 
thought  to  exist  as  individual  except  as  a universal  was  present 
in  it  and  gave  it  form,  i.e.,  makes  it  a member  of  some  class, 
it  seemed  necessary  to  conceive  of  God,  Being,  E^,  as  in  some  way 
permeating  all  the  universe.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  the 
scholastics  suppressed  and  obscured  this  pantheistic  tendency 
implicit  in  Realism.^ 

In  spite  of  this  danger, Realism  became  the  orthodox 
philosophy  of  the  Middle  Ages.  In  the  first  place,  it  harmonized 
with  the  great  constructive  dreams  of  Medievalism,  a universal 
empire  and  a universal  church.^  And  more  specifically,  the  forrau- 


■iv,  "by  Rashdall,  op.cit.  I,  39,  Rashdall  says:  "The  words 

in  which  this  writer  states,  without  resolving,  the  problem  of  the 
bcholastic  philosophy,  have  played  perhaps  a more  momentous  part  in 
the  history  of  Thought  than  any  other  passage  of  equal  length  in  all 
literature  outside  the  Canonical  ScripturesT" 

2a  system  of  graded  universals  was  worked  out  by  Porphvry  and  after 
him  called  Arbor  Pornhvrli . Erdmann,  I,  S45. 

^Bryce,  James,  Holy  Roman  Empire . N.Y.  (1904).  97-99. 


■ '<■■■  ,y^'--:-  ' ■ :^  :-v„  «„  '.VL 

iVGjj^  V*v  if:*  • •;  ■■ 


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34 


lators  of  theology  found  the  doctrine  of  the  independent  existence 
of  universale  very  useful  for  a rational  interpretation  of  some 
important  and  puzzling  Christian  doctrines,  especially  those  of  the 
Trinity  and  the  bodily  presence  of  Christ  in  the  Mass.  On  the  other 
hand.  Nominalism  led  only  to  a terrifying  despair.  Inasmuch  as  it 
denied  the  existence  of  universale,  it  appeared  in  that  age  to  deny 
the  possibility  of  any  knowledge  at  all;  it  reduced  the  organized 
fforld  of  Realism  to  an  anarchic  world  of  mere  unrelated  individual 
phenomena.  Roscellinus,  who  was  the  first  to  develop  the  philosophy 
of  Nominalism,  and  who  scandalized  the  Church  by  his  heretical 
conclusions,  declared,  according  to  his  bitter  opponent  Anselm, 
that  "the  universal  substance”  is  only  a f latum  voois.  a verbal 
breathing.  As  he  did  not  hesitate  to  follow  his  tenets  to  their 
logical  conclusions  even  in  theology,  he  denied  that  we  can  speak 
of  three  persons  in  one  person  — we  must  speak  of  three  Gods. 
Naturally,  he  also  raised  difficulties  over  the  Mass.  The  Church 
consequently  condemned  Nominalism,  and  Roscellinus  was  compelled  to 
recant  at  the  Synod  of  Soissons  in  1093.  In  the  next  two  centuries 
the  adherents  of  Nominalism  were  few  and  mostly  secret.  Authority 
for  the  time  prevailed.^ 

Scholasticism  flourished  at  its  height  in  the  thirteenth  I 
century.  During  that  period  the  problem  of  the  universals  in  its 
first  form  had  apparently  been  solved  by  the  three -fold  method  of 
conceiving  their  existence  either  ante  rem.  in  ^ or  post  rem.  But 
it  returned  in  a new  and  more  subtle  form  as  the  problem  of  indivi- 

^Pringle-Pattison,  Encvc . Brit.  Vol.  34,  349. 

^Punjer,  op.  cit.  28-39. 


35 


duation.  Aristotle  had  taught  that  matter  is  a universal  substance 
ffhich  is  individualized  by  form.  But  if  form  also  be  considered 
universal,  why  should  any  object  be  different  from  any  other  of  its 
class?  Albert  the  Great  and  Thomas  Aquinas  therefore  shifted  their 
ground  and  taught  that  matter,  not  form,  was  the  principle  of 
individuation;  but  as  this  explanation  did  not  explain,  Aquinas 
sought  to  push  the  vexing  problem  out  of  sight  by  saying  that  ”the 
principle  of  the  diversity  of  individuals  of  the  same  species  is 
the  quantitative  division  of  matter."!  "To  answer  one  doubt," 
said  Montaigne  of  the  scholastics,  "they  give  me  three:  it  is  a 
Hydra's  head." 

The  failure  of  this  principle  of  individuation  in  the 
Thomist  philosophy  led  to  a revival  of  a modified  and  subtilized 
form  of  Nominalism,  championed  by  the  Englishman  William  of  Occam. 
Again  philosophy  took  the  reality  of  the  individual  as  its  point  of 
departure,  and  grew  sceptical  of  the  reality  of  the  universal  except 
as  a mental  concept. 

"Such  a doctrine,"  writes  Pringle-Pattison,  "in 
the  stress  it  lays  upon  the  singular,  the  object  of 
immediate  perception,  is  evidently  inspired  by  a 
spirit  differing  widely  even  from  the  moderate 
Realism  of  Thomas.  It  is  a spirit  which  distrusts 
abstractions,  which  makes  for  direct  observation 
for  inductive  research.  Occam,  who  is  still  a 

gives  us  the  Scholastic  justification 
of  the  spirit  which  had  already  taken  hold  upon 
Roger  Bacon,  and  which  was  to  enter  upon  its 
rights  in  the  15th  and  18th  centuries.  Moreover, 
there  is  no  denying  that  the  new  Nominalism  not 
only  represents  the  love  of  reality  and  the  spirit 
of  induction,  but  also  contains  in  itself  the"^  germs 


Pringle-Pattison,  Encvc.  Brit. . Vol.  24,  354. 


.>  • 


‘s!^ 


i ' ?i  ►'.ArSIL  ' ^.v  i.  i-.'  i 

l?^:;.;-'  ..  ■,  '..A'-.'  . «■  ■ ; .V'^'.^s  ■ S -^'‘ 


of  that  eaipiricisQi  and  sensualism  so  frequently 
associated  with  the  former  tendencies,”! 

The  philosophy  of  Occam,  usually  called  Terminism  to  distinguish  it 

from  the  Nominalism  of  Roscellinus,  was  feared  by  the  Church  as 

much  as  the  earlier  school.  Occam,  after  a life  of  imprisonment  and 

persecution,  died  in  1347 . Already  in  1339  the  University  of  Paris, 

the  intellectual  capital  of  scholasticism,  put  his  treatises  under 

the  ban,  and  the  next  year  the  philosophy  of  Nominalism  was  again 

formally  condemned.  But  persecution  and  condemnation  availed 

nothing.  Followers  came  to  Occam  in  crowds.  As  Erdmann  remiarks, 

the  Thomists  and  Scotists,  who  unite  themselves  against  the  common 

enemy  . . . can  nevertheless  only  prove  by  the  fruitlessness  of 


their  struggle  that  the  time  for  nominalism  is  come,  and  that 
therefore  he  who  declares  for  it  best  understands  his  age,  that  is, 
is  most  philosophical."'"  Although  opposition  to  it  kept  up,  and 
Louis  XI  in  1473  issued  an  edict  binding  all  the  teachers  at  the 


University  of  Paris  by  oath  to  teach  the  doctrines  of  Realism,  it 


Pringle-Pattison,  Encyc.  Brit. . Vol.  24,  355. 
btudents  of  Occam  have  not  failed  to  point  out  the  significance  of 
the  fact  that  he  was  a countryman  of  Francis  Bacon  and  Hobbes,  as 
well  as  of  Roger  Bacon  and  Duns  Scotus.  Thus  T,  M.  Lindsay,  British 

1872)  ,p .2:  "He  was  the  great  English 
choolman,  and  his  nationality  appears  everywhere  in  his  writings 
and  actions,  distinguishing  him  from  the  other  leaders  of  medieval 
xnought.  ...we  see  in  William  of  Occam  some  of  the  beet  features  o-^ 
English  character  ...  He  was  full  of  sturdy  self-dependence, 
and  had  a strong  love  of  freedom,  which  made  itself  felt  on  ques- 
ons  both  of  Church  and  State  policy.”  Likewise  George  Groom 

discussing  the  English  mind,  says:  ”And  for  certain,  in 

this  English  Franciscan,  still  deep  in  the  middle  age,  three  long 
centuries  before  the  day  of  Bacon  and  Hobbes,  we  can  descry, throue-h 
xne  veil  of  his  scholastic  jargon,  a thinker  mentally  akin  to  these 
zo  Hobbes  especially  — in  a fashion  of  which  they  in  the  indis- 
criminating  impatience  of  their  opposition  to  the  scholastic  system 
little  dreamt.”  Philosophical  Remains.  Lend.  (1894).  37. 

Erdmann,  I,  514. 


iv 


' i 


ii' 


, } ,V  • 


r 


37 


was  too  late  to  win  a philosophical  victory  hy  means  of  such  over- 
bearing fiats,  and  the  edict  remained  in  force  only  eight  years. 
Nominalism,  however,  never  succeeded  in  dominating  intellectual 
Europe  to  the  extent  that  Realism  had  in  the  thirteenth  century. 
The  age  of  ecplecticism  and  decay  had  come,  and  the  debate  of  the 
two  opposing  schools  lasted  through  the  Renaissance.  Even  as  late 
as  1651  there  appeared  in  France  a work  by  Salabert  with  the  sig- 
nificant title,  Philosonhia  Nominalium  v indie at a. 


We  shall  get  a better  understanding  of  Nominalism  as  a 
preparation  for  certain  aspects  of  Renaissance  thought  if  we  go 
back  and  trace  the  development  of  a related  problem:  the  divergence 

of  reason  and  faith.  When  the  scholastic  philosophy  was  in  the 
process  of  form.ation  in  the  twelfth  century,  it  gradually  estab- 
lished also  the  theory  of  the  identity  of  faith  and  reason  as  means 
of  knowledge.  Anselm  demonstrated  the  existence  of  God  by  means 
of  the  ontological  argument,  that  is,  by  assuming  as  axiomatic  the 
real  existence  of  universals.  Abelard’s  rationalism,  it  is  true,  i 
was  the  cause  of  his  persecution  by  the  conservatives  of  his  day, 
who  objected  to  ’’the  whole  tone,  spirit  and  method  of  his  theo- 
logical teaching.  He  had  presumed  to  endeavour  to  understand,  to 
explain  the  mystery  of  the  Trinity:  he  had  dared  to  bring  all 

things  in  Heaven  and  earth  to  the  test  of  Reason.”^  But  Abelard 


II 


Dualism  of  Faith  and  Reason 


• 4''‘ . V^ii?*'-. , 'V-  ' v-' ■■'  ; 

^ ^ # • ,•' :'f ‘I , ^M;fi:' 


i;jrf'S5aiUf.fyt;^  V?  '.  -'“f ’“/•*'  4,1 

:,"  'it'  ' - ''  ■ : r/'i  , ,.  "..  'V;'  ■'t,/:'  ^ '*' 


I ■(■  ^ ',  ' '’•  - ■’,  ' ' ■>  . ■ ..'*  ' ' ‘ *■  ' ' ' '•  ...' -i  '■  '. . 'i  '■  'lit'  '■  'j.'. 


&"'  '?^,'v'-'  r-hutlv/'Vv,:' \ tiiPEj 


'.•.■a-  -v',j^V.;;‘ 


vc-"'‘,-i-^'#;?jE 


/:\  A 


38 


certainly  had  no  heretical  intention;  on  the  contrary,  he  believed 
in  the  reason  as  the  efficacious  instrument  of  orthodoxy.  That  he 
was  not  afraid  of  debating  any  of  the  sacred  doctrines  is  clear  from 
his  curious  Sic  ^ Non,  a compilation  from  the  Scriptures  and  such 
other  writings  as  were  then  available,  of  arguments  for  and  against 
each  of  158  propositions  in  theology,  ethics  and  historical 
Christianity,  with  no  comment  and  no  conclusions  drawn. ^ And  though 
Abelard  was  stigmatized  as  a heretic  in  his  own  day,  his  spirit  of 
®o^-*-idence  in  the  reason  as  the  instrument  of  theology,  permitting 
it  the  fullest  freedom  of  inquiry,  triumphed  in  the  next  age,  with 
Albert  and  Aquinas.  In  these  two  men  scholasticism  reached  its 
greatness,  with  the  unqualified  belief  as  its  basis  that  philosophy 
and  theology  must  be  identical,  that  reason  can  not  possibly  con- 
tradict faith,  though  the  latter  may  at  times  appear  suprarational 
to  us  in  this  life. 

Aquinas  is  generally  knom  for  his  Summa  Theologica.  a 
monumental  system  of  theology  and  still  the  classic  treatise  in  the 
Roman  Catholic  church.  But  his  confidence  in  the  reason  in  matters 
of  religion  is  more  easily  shown  from  his  treatise  on  Natural 
Theology,  the  Summa  contra  Gentiles.^  In  this  work  Aquinas  had  in  | 
mind  primarily  to  stop  the  flood  of  new  ideas  coming  in,  along  with 
the  genuine  texts  of  Aristotle,  from  Arabian  philosophy.  It  was 

|jb  JTpn,  ed.  Henke  and  Lindenkohl,  Marburg  (1851).  Some  typical 
propositions:  l.Quod  fides  humanis  rationibus  sit  adstruenda,  et 

contra.  4. Quod  sit  credendum  in  Deum  solum,  et  contra.  38. Quod 
o^ia  soiat  Deus,  et  non.  68. Quod  Christus  secundum  carnem  factus 
? = / contra.  134. Quod  liceat  habere  concubinam,  et  contra. 

154. Quod  liceat  mentiri,  et  contra. 

S 

Translation  by  Rickaby,  Joseph,  S.J.,  0^  God  ar^  Hi^  Creatures. 
London  (1905).  For  a full  discussion  see  Webb,  op.cit.  pp. 233-291. 


■ ‘ Sqi^)ii.. Wa>  .iityi<|ij|jwr)«ife3tlW 

IV"  V'  

h>i*^-»'«T'  '■’ -r  . „ '■  ■ ■■■■  \v 

_ .’  ..  .....  *.,  C i.v  <;  .Yji.W^Vu  A(T 


Bifc''  .>  ■ . ...  ■'  '..'r../  . ^'- :’'A^  Kf 


s ^-i  ' ■.  f ..  ^ij'  '■*‘‘  j ffNr.«  ■’•'  ' *^»-c 

wt^i'  . . ; •■  - ■■  ^ 


difficult  to  refute  the  errors  of  these  new  opponents  of 
Christianity,  because,  "Mohammedans  and  Pagans,  they  do  not  agree 
with  us  in  recognizing  the  authority  of  any  scripture,  available  for 
their  conviction,  as  we  can  argue  against  the  Jews  from  the  Old 
Testament,  and  against  heretics  from  the  New.  But  these  receive 
neither:  hence  it  is  necessary  to  have  recourse  to  natural  reason, 

which  all  are  obliged  to  assent  to.  But  in  the  things  of  God 
reason  is  often  at  a loss."^  At  first  sight  indeed  reason  unaided 
does  not  seem  to  go  far;  it  can  prove  the  existence  of  God  as  First 
Cause  and  intelligent  orderer  of  the  universe.  Revelation  alone 
can  teach  us  the  mysteries  of  Christianity,  such  as  the  Trinity, 
original  sin,  the  sacraments,  the  resurrection,  final  judgment, 
heaven  and  hell.  Reason  can  only  refute  the  arguments  of  the  oppo- 
nents of  these  revealed  truths.  But  it  is  important  to  note  here 
that  the  principle  of  natural  theology  is  laid  down  so  definitely 
by  the  classic  philosopher  of  the  Middle  Ages;  for  this  principle 
was  constantly  relied  on  to  refute  unbelievers  down  through  the 
Renaissance,  until  it  reached  its  most  elaborate  and  independent 
development  in  Deism. 

This  circumscribed  area  allotted  to  Natural  Theology  is, 
however,  no  index  to  the  extent  of  the  rationalism  of  Aquinas.  For 
to  him  God,  the  world,  the  tenets  of  Christianity,  all  were 
intelligible  absolutely,  even  though  our  imperfect  means  of  knowledg 
prevent  our  knowing  them  in  this  life.  "The  prime  author  and  mover 
of  the  universe  is  intelligence,"  he  says.  "Therefore  the  last  end 
of  the  universe  must  be  the  good  of  the  intelligence,  and  that  is 

1 

Trans.  Rickaby,  ed.  cit.  p.2.  Book  I,  Chap.  ii. 


J 


fetti'  /?0A'-fifce#'fiJ ' ■^'‘  ' ’*t^?  I 

' ...|h 

;■  i*;V-'-"'7vM-..'V  ?■-.■:  fe$  ■r'ViV-ui',.  ■.  . ,^,Wi.^ 

’ ,U..i' :;:i\ '^a  ? ...fc.'J^ 

...  ■ ■witw  J.II  I >'i‘i  lyi  ^iii]iiiiiii  '■ 


Truth  then  must  he  the  final  end  of  the  whole  universe.”^ 
However,  for  various  practical  reasons  few  people  are  qualified  to 
pursue  knowledge  and  thus  achieve  their  blessedness  (Book  I, 

Chap,  iv) ; therefore  they  have  to  accept  on  faith  so  much  of  it  as 
is  necessary  to  salvation.  But  to  say  that  the  natural  dictates 
of  reason  are  contrary  to  faith,  is  to  accuse  God  of  having  given 
us  two  contradictory  principles,  an  obviously  absurd  proposition 
(Book  I,  Chap,  vii) . Reason  is  dependable  so  far  as  it  can  go.  We 
can  not  know  the  essence  of  God,  because  "the  huinan  understanding 
cannot  go  so  far  of  its  natural  power  to  grasp  His  substance,  since 
under  the  conditions  of  the  present  life  the  knowledge  of  our  under 
standing  commences  with  sense;  and  therefore  objects  beyond  sense 
cannot  be  grasped  by  human  understanding  except  so  far  as  knowledge 
is  gathered  of  them  through  the  senses  (Book  I,  Chap.iii)."  But 
although  what  we  now  accept  on  faith  cannot  give  us  perfect 
blessedness,  when  we  shall  see  God  we  shall  have  knowledge  itself; 
for  happiness  consists  in  the  perfect  activity  of  the  human 
intellect,  and  the  end  of  all  "Subsistent  intelligences"  is  to  know 
God  (Book  III,  Chaps,  i-lxiii) . 

For  Aquinas  then,  reason  and  faith  are  not  contradictory, 
and  in  their  absolute  aspect  they  must  be  identical.  But  this 
harmony  was  immediately  denied  by  John  Duns  Scotus  (12747-1308) , 
the  first  great  critic  and  opponent  of  Aquinas.  Duns  Scotus  did 
not  on  the  whole  regard  the  reason  as  such  a valuable  aid  in 
expoimding  matters  of  faith,  and  set  aside  more  doctrines  as 
indemonstrable  by  reason.  But  more  than  that,  God  was  not,  accord- 

1_ 

Trans.  Rickaby,  p.  1.  Book  I,  Chap.  i. 


^ . -■i'  • 'X  . • ,^ . '*  'y  ^ '.>i!T- 

SSb^^^oa^-ms  '*%  V -4  r.4i&fi^»‘i|X«t-i3^‘i^‘/M  j 


T^S9 


ing  to  Scotus,  absolute  intelligence,  but  absolute  will.  The  good 
is  good  merely  because  God  wills  it.  As  there  is  no  science  which 
can  explain  the  inexplicable,  the  world  is  thus  reduced  to  an 
indeterminism  with  no  rational  principle.  Though  the  full 
sceptical  conclusion  of  such  a philosophy  was  not  clear  to  the 
Scotists,  it  is  easy  to  see  in  retrospect  the  deep  cleavage 
developing  between  reason  and  faith  as  we  recede  farther  and  farther 
from  Aquinas.  In  the  Nominalism  of  Occam,  which  we  have  already 
discussed  as  evidence  of  the  decay  of  scholasticism,  the  distinction 
between  reason  and  faith  is  made  absolute.  For  Occam,  by  denying 
the  philosophical  value  of  universals,  denied  that  God  could  be 
known,  and  thereby  rejected  the  basis  of  Natural  Theology;  all 
knowledge  of  God,  even  of  his  existence,  and  all  the  truths  of 
religion  and  ethics,  had  to  be  accepted  on  faith.  This  position  is 
especially  clear  in  Occam’s  celebrated  Centilogium  theologioum. 
which  is  thus  described  by  Erdmann: 

”By  far  the  greater  part  of  the  hundred  conclusions, 
of  which  his  Centilogium  consists,  show  either  that  all 
proofs  for  the  principal  dogmas,  the  existence  of  God, 

His  unity,  etc.,  are  uncertain,  or  that  the  most 
important  doctrines,  such  as  the  Trinity,  Creation, 
Incarnation,  the  sacramental  presence  of  the  body  of 
Christ,  lead  to  results  which  contradict  the  recognized 
axioms  of  reason:  namely,  that  nothing  can  at  the  same 
time  exist  and  not  exist,  that  nothing  can  exist 
before  itself,  that  a conclusion  drawn  from  sound 
premises  must  be  correct,  that  a part  is  smaller 
than  the  whole,  that  two  bodies  cannot  occupy  the 
same  place  at  the  same  time,  etc.  We  are  the  less 
justified  in  seeing  irony  in  this,  as  Rettberg  and 
von  Baur  do,  or  scepticism,  as  is  done  by  others, 
since  in  that  case  it  would  at  least  remain  a 
question  whether  the  irony  were  not  levelled  at 
the  reason  . . . That  a thing  may  be  true  for 
the  theologian,  but  false  for  the  philosopher, 
an  opinion  expressed  by  Duns  only  in  passing, 

William  is  firmly  convinced,  and  he  is  nevertheless. 


42 


while  holding  this  dualism,  an  upright  Aristotelian 
and  a believing  Catholic."  ^ 

Thus  in  the  philosophy  of  Occam  converge  the  two  great 

disruptive  tendencies  of  Scholastic  philosophy:  the  denial  of  the 

validity  of  universale,  and  the  dualism  between  faith  and  reason. 

A glance  forward  into  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries  will 

enable  us  to  show  that  these  tendencies  were  present  in  the 
2 

Renaissance. 


Erdmann,  I,  511-2.-  This  distinction  between  theological  and 
philosophical  truth  had  already  in  the  thirteenth  century  been 
introduced  into  European  thought  by  the  philosophy  of  Averroes.  In 
1277  a large  number  of  heretical  doctrines  taueht  at  the  University 
of  Paris  were  formally  condemned,  including  many  Averroistic  propo- 
sitions which  asserted  the  distinction  discussed  here:  Anima 

separata  non  est  alterabilis  secundum  philosophiam,  licet  secundum 
fidem  alteretur.—  Quod  naturalis  philosophus  simpliciter  debet 
negare  mundi  novitatem,  quia  nititur  causis  et  rationibus  natural- 
ibus:  fidelis  autem  potest  negare  mundi  aeternita.tem,  quia  nititur 

causis  supernaturalibus. - Quod  creatio  non  est  possibilis, quamvis 
contrarium  sit  tenendum  secundum  fidem.-  Quod  resurrectio  futura 
non  debet  credi  a philosopho,  quia  impossibilis  est  investip'ari  per 
rationem.  Error,  quia  philosophus  debet  captivare  intellectum  in 
obsequium  fidei.-  Renan,  Averroes  et  1* Averro'isme . pp. 273-5.  Cf 
DeWulf,  Histoire  de  ^ Philosophic  iJdi^vale.  Paris  (1912)  .pp.469-4^70 

Rashdall  seems  to  take  exception  to  the  interpretation  of 
Nominalism  as  a progress  of  the  human  mind.  "This  association  " he 
says,  (op.  cit.  I,  539-540)  "of  the  rise  and  fall  of  Nominalism  with 
me  rise  and  fall  o^  intellectual  activity,  may  be  supposed  to  lend 
some  colour  to  the  theory  put  forward  by  the  late  Mr.*Pattison  as  to 
the  intrinsic  connexion  between  Nominalism  and  intellectual  progress 
on  the  one  hand  and  between  Realism  and  religious  or  political 
reaction  on  the  other.  But  if  in  the  annals  of  medieval  Paris  the 
prevalence  of  Nominalism  may  to  some  extent  be  taken  as  an  index  of 
+ V?!"  vitality,  that  is  simply  because  opposition  to  an  es- 

tablished Philosophy,  whatever  be  its  character,  is  a sign  of 
Intellectual  vigour;  but  the  heresy  tends  to  lose  its  vitality  as 

orthodoxy.  At  Prague  we  shall  find  an  estab- 
lished Nominalism  associated  with  the  narrowest  and  most  intolerant 
ecclesiasticism,  while  Realism  . . . was  certainly  the  creed  of  some 
or  the  ablest  men  and  the  most  fearless  reformers  that  ever  made 
rneir  appearance  in  a medieval  University.  Ockham  no  doubt 

history  of  Philosophy  which  cannot  be 
master  Wycliffe,  but  this  impor- 
extend  to  the  nominalist  opponents  of  Wycliffe  at 
Oxford  or  the  nominalist  burners  of  Hus  at  Constance." 

identity  of  "the  late  Mr. 

Pattison,"  and  I have  searched  In  vain  in  the  vorks  of  Mark  P^ttison 


43 


The  chief  value  of  Nominalism  was  undoubtedly  that  it 
prepared  a receptive  audience  for  the  non-Aristotelian  philosophers 
of  the  Renaissance;  its  triumph  signified  the  exhaustion  of  the 
constructive  effort  of  Realism.  But  if  scholasticism  ceased  as  a 
creative  force  in  the  fifteenth  century,  it  continued  tenaciously 
to  control  theology  and  philosophical  speculation  touching  religious 
matters.  One  has  only  to  note  the  prompt,  frequent,  and  voluminous 
printings  of  the  medieval  philosophers  to  realize  that  the  printing 
press  of  the  Renaissance  was  not  devoted  exclusively  to  spreading 
classical  learning,  and  that  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries 
were  still  debating  the  problems  raised  by  the  thirteenth  and 
fourteenth. 

This  extension  of  the  Middle  Ages  into  the  Renaissance 
will  be  frequently  evident  in  this  study.  For  the  present  two 
illustrations  must  suffice,  Petrus  Pomponatius  (1462-1525),  a 
teacher  of  philosophy  at  Bologna,  whose  writings  implied  a doubt 
as  to  the  immortality  of  the  soul  and  denied  the  freedom  of  the 


will,  was  accused  of  heresy.  He  defended  himself  by  an  appeal  to 


living!  referred  to.  Andrew  Seth  Pringle-Pattison  is  still 

oiit  nature  of  Nominalism,  Raehdall  seems  to  have  pointed 

not  champions  of  Nominalism  do 

claim  for  it  "intellectual  vitality"  or  "vigour"- 

Nominal^^r.'^^+if  well  known,  may  be  as  vigorous  as  revolution.  ’But 
^ominalism,  they  claim,  means  intellectual  freedom  with  all  its 

Haureau  a fervent  partisan  of  the 


to 


? Zj Xiauixccau,  ct  ieX'VenTi  pamSaU  Of  th( 

(o  Histoire  de  la  philosoohie  scolastiaue 

recrIrJ  revised,  IB'^-BOT)  was  led  by  his  political  faith  n 

comms-nri  ??  itself,  a philosophy  born  to  serve  not  to 

true  temperate,  sensible  search  for  truth,  the 

? philosophy,  approaching  in  spirit  to  Bacon,  Descartes, 
thP  * Kant.  For  Haureau,  Nominalism  is  intimately  bound  up  with 
the  modern  mind  in  politics  as^  well  as  in  philosophy.  See  Picavet 
.^?.^^tsse  d une  Histoire  Gene  rale  et  Comoare'e  des  “ ’ 

-die vale 8.  Paris  (1905).  pp.  319-335. 


Philosophies 


I'  ':  »?  • . ■ 'l^  -''  ,•  '.  U. 


, ‘'^■^  . “/.ii.  ^ I -•  #•.  jn'i  ■*  * f A A^iit'j' t . iti?  ^ '>^0'  J| 


. . w.-' . 


^ <. :.  - '-f*  • ;I‘  • ‘ '.tfat  V,sr-:  "■Tarri..  , xw 


up.,  *1 

K' ' • *..•  33sa;  . '^ilR.  - -rv;;}>'.  „ 


',  'f, 


44 


the  principle,  believe  as  a Christian  what  I cannot  believe  as 
a philosopher."  Reason,  he  said,  is  two-fold:  intellectual  and 

practical;philo8ophy,  dealing  only  with  natural  truths,  rests  on 
the  former;  theology,  concerned  only  with  life  and  morals,  on  the 
latter.  But  the  Lateran  Council  of  the  19th  of  December  ISIS  con- 
demned the  theory  of  "double  truth"  in  words  that  recall  Thomas 
Aquinas:  "As  what  is  true  can  never  contradict  what  is  true,  we 

determine  that  every  proposition  which  is  contrary  to  the  truth 
of  the  revealed  faith  is  entirely  false. "1 

Pomponatius  and  his  "double  truth"  became  a byword  and  a 
scandal  throughout  the  Renaissance.  And  yet  there  was  a whole 
school  of  orthodox  Christians  who  made  as  sharp  a distinction  as 
he  did  between  philosophy  and  theology.  But  they  made  this  dis- 
tinction, not  as  Pomponatius,  to  emancipate  philosophy  from  the 
shackles  of  theology,  but  in  the  interests  of  a less  rationalistic 
religious  experience.  Thus,  to  go  back  to  Occam's  immediate 
followers,  Peter  D'Ailly  (1350-1425)  and  John  Gerson  (1363-1429), 
both  Chancellors  of  the  University  of  Paris,  went  beyond  Occam 
both  in  their  scepticism  and  their  emphasis  on  faith.  Gerson 
especially,  is  kno'/m  as  a mystic.  We  shall  frequently  observe 
that  mysticism  flourishes  best  outside  of  the  bounds  of  dogma;  the 
spirit  of  rationalism  dispels  the  ecstatic  vision.  It  was  the 
perception  of  this  antagonism  between  faith  and  reason  that  made 
the  poet  Cowley  identify  the  tree  in  the  garden  of  Eden,  whose 
forbidden  fruit  brought  all  our  woe,  with  the  Arbor  Porohyr ii . 
which  bore  the  fruit  of  Realism: 

Punjer,  op.  cit.  pp.  50-52. 


r,’-  -V 


V-Jf  r^k 


.KT 


w 


vf7.jr47\v’^f^  ‘ V<?  f-  ' ! , - •/  .1  v?.1». 


,V  M'-f4V 


■w.t-'. 


■, ' i 


i .8  ii-iUaO' ■.;><. 


'»Y^98(;ticb;,TX^^  '“y’-f  ■" •'■' y",  yr’.y  'T ■■ , 

Byri  ^‘  . » ,T3  3i-. ,-  p?j. ‘>r-.  • t ' ’’i  -'.'i,'  ■'.■'vr-  ^1^.’ 


45 


That  right  Porphyrian  Tree  which  did  true  Logick  shew, 

Each  Leaf  did  learned  Notions  give. 

And  th* Apples  were  Demonstrative  . . . 

The  onely  Science  Man  by  this  did  get, 

Was  but  to  know  he  nothing  Knew  . . 

In  this  railing  "against  the  dogmatists"  Cowley  shows  not  a trace  of 
Sextus  Empiricus,  the  ancient  sceptic  whose  work  was  so  influential 
in  the  Renaissance;  the  seventeenth  century  poet  is  a belated 
Nominalist. 


Ill 

The  Comparative  Study  of  Religions 

With  the  failure  of  the  great  scholastic  effort  to 
nationalize  Christianity  thus  signalized  by  the  development  of  the 
sceptical  Nominalism  which  tended  towards  mysticism,  the  approach 
of  a new  kind  of  philosophy  was  announced  by  the  gradual  development 
already  in  the  Middle  Ages  of  the  comparative  study  of  religions. 
Scholasticism  had  labored  within  the  boundaries  of  accepted  Christian 
dogma;  but  at  the  same  time  a new  problem  arose  of  accommodation  to 
other  religions.  For  Europe  acquired  in  the  thirteenth  century  a 
new  respect  for  the  Mohammedans  and  their  religion,  partly  owing  to 
contact  with  them  during  the  Crusades,  and  partly  to  the  fact  that 
it  was  discovered  that  the  Arabs  were  in  possession  of  the  great 
treasures  of  ancient  learning,  especially  the  true  Aristotle.  The 


CaSbSlIe  1^457^  — Knojledse,  Poems,  ed.  Waller, 


'■•X 


■'i?K^ 


***'”[»  ’!■>■  ■•*  4 


^siir 


Mi'V:  . *.,  Ji< 


I 1 - ?•  . » 


W'^ jT.  ^ * ' ><  ' ’ ‘ ‘Va  - ,.  , 


.r«M 


h- 


WWi^ 


S-V>,. 

'> 


VislEA^ci'i  ■•Ml:4V,'  .,1 


:■  m 


Y’> 


4 i '-I  • f«  % k 

tt^j'h'.  .-■  *^'  I . ^ , V fi  ^ 

ifl'  ;;.^to .» 


46  1 

non-Christian  religions  ceased  to  appear  so  Satanic,  and  discussion 
of  them  grew  at  the  same  time  better  informed  and  more  tolerant. 
Treatises  on  them  became  common,  cast  in  the  dialogue  form,  each 
religion  being  championed  by  an  adherent.  The  intention  of  the 
earlier  authors  was  of  course  that  in  this  debate  Christianity 
should  emerge  triumphant;  but  in  the  sixteenth  century  the  dialogue 
became  a useful  device  for  presenting  in  a veiled  form  such  criticiar 
of  Christianity  as  might  otherwise  bring  the  author  to  the  stake. 

These  dialogues  begin  very  early.  Gilbert  Crispin, 

Abbot  of  Westminster,  disciple  of  Anselm,  wrote  two;  one  between  a 
Christian  and  a Jew,  and  another  between  a Christian  and  a 
philosopher.  In  the  latter  the  Christian  fails  to  convert  the 
philosopher,  who  ”rose  and  departed  I know  not  whither,  downcast 
alike  in  mind  and  in  countenance."^  Abelard  combined  these  two 
situations  in  his  Dialogue  between  a Christian,  a Jew,  and  a 
Philosopher.  He  represents  himself  as  dreaming  that  these  three 
men,  in  various  ways  the  worshippers  of  one  God,  ask  him  to  judge 
between  them.  The  philosopher  presents  a religion  based  on  Natural 
Law,  and  declares  that  custom  and  education  are  largely  responsible 
for  the  hold  Judaism  and  Christianity  have  on  their  people.  The  Jew 
maintains  that  the  Philosopher  is  unable  to  disprove  the  divine 
origin  of  the  Jewish  faith;  and  the  Christian  defends  his  own 
beliefs  chiefly  on  the  basis  of  the  superiority  of  Christ’s  ethical 
teaching.  All  three  participants  proceed  on  the  assumption  that  all 
religious  doctrine,  if  not  absolutely  demonstrable,  is  at  least 

1 

Webb,  op.  cit.  pp. 194-198. 


i 


IWivw'irrti'T 

iilH 


^i-  ■ • 


,n‘d«fl.''.«%^  ^o.UJ±  odj-,^i  ,4|rj.,ft*-.5,Ito«xrv  «feA9  1 

l^'t:*^  t A J ,.r- A,,  • f 

ll^^'' ft  'J*'  I,;  I 


I •'ll^^i&V.-i  ,,'twtfWR  J,o#:  .f.,.r;j..t|o?7i«.i5:. 

Jpli  n-t«' ^liSsiaB,  Si,  ■1?^BerJ‘?;e>e^ 

■K'  '•*»/’;■»•••:*'  ■'.  ■*  **■';• 

HRkX.  ' '•  ‘ '.'  .«  - ’\'  1-  ^ > m.  -*.  ,i>.  . ,1  .—^i  f »rk#’  /it  • '-'n  ?» 


I >"-> 


J.  .«v5  '*‘- 


accessible  to  the  reason,  and  the  spirit  throughout  is  amicable 
and  fair.^ 

Both  Crispin  and  Abelard  were  orthodox,  at  least  in 
intention.  But  as  I have  suggested,  the  dialogues  of  the  sixteenth 
century  were  by  no  means  uniformly  favorable  to  Christianity.  In 
the  interval  between  Abelard  and  his  sceptical  successors,  we  can 
trace  with  accuracy  the  spread  of  the  notion  of  the  equality  of 
Christianity,  Judaism,  and  Mohammedanism,  in  the  successive  versions 
of  the  widely  circulated  story  of  the  three  rings,  used  again  by 
Lessing  in  Nathan  der  Weise.^  In  its  earlier  versions  the  tale  is 
clearly  Christian.  The  three  chief  religions  were  compared  to  three 
rings  given  by  a father  to  his  three  sons,  so  that  after  his  death 
the  true  heir  might  be  identified  by  the  genuine  one.  Although  they 
are  alike  in  appearance,  the  true  ring  is  discovered  by  its  healing 
power.  In  this  form  the  story  is  told  by  Stephen  of  Bourbon 
(died  about  1261),  by  the  unkno'wn  author  of  an  old  French  poem 
about  twenty  five  years  later, ^ and  found  its  way  into  the  Gesta 
Romanorum,  in  which  the  application  is  made  as  follows:  "My 

beloved,  the  Knight  is  Christ;  the  three  sons  are  the  Jews, 

Saracens,  and  Christians;  the  most  valuable  ring  is  faith,  which  is 
the  property  only  of  the  younger:  that  is,  of  the  Christians."^ 


^Webb,  pp. 207-233;  and  Punjer,  pp.  38-9. 

Best  brief  discussion,  with  bibliography,  in  Lee,  A.  C.  The 
Decameron:  rts  Sources  and  Analogues.  London  (1909).  pp.  6-13. 

/aris,  Gaston,  Ppesie  du  moyen  ige . Lectures  et  Lecons.  2ms 
eerie,  2nd  ed.  Paris  (190f)  . p.l4l7^ 

^3.  4ou  vrai  aniel.  ed.  Tobler,  Leipzig  (1871)  . 

Lee,  op.  cit.  p.8. 


"w  '■■  ' s-' Ji  v«w"?iia 

■":  'v" ; , ,;  'XpP^f^:  ■ 


. n .. 


T-. 


'.  W*'  f • ■<•  ' '-■  1 f.W ' -7  **■  , ''  ,T  ’ . • ;.  ■"  »vP  .’  ;-?  ,■ 


V/  A , 


. ■ ,„_ 


I . ■ • W . . f V • .1.^4  ■>■  • '•.).*•_ 


>T^'.'r«.  *'■  ■ ■ ' a ' ' fr-  \ . A; '-L 


j*!jf^2':*J  * 4fT^:^  iiWMi*  e;9is!V 


;..  ,./ Ik' »'■ « . ' A'lirl  riot'#.  <■.  -^/t"^  vH 


..’■  . ' ..  ' Aw.,  'J'fi*;'  .^  , ,^;tV  ni<>rt^.  ' 


'*  ,«k.i^'i  (iftita-ii  t,Xi5  .ai..  ■*e  'wcj.ij  ’,'  rui'oi’X:.''  ;«'if 

•1  * . *.'  ; i'  H '■  i ♦ ■ “i*' 


l:  t :p> 


rs\  i^i^WL  . 

i_v  :'  .."  , lijr  „ 


’J|i  ,k^tn»  ’ 5 it: 

■ Kv,  .,''K.*',.:v'Ar/ ■;■';.  "'  «HBf^:  ' » Ka 


'.'^ "J^Il’'  ' V".: 


/ ’■  ‘j^4  ■;!"  -«  .,,. 

* . .'*■,  _ • ...^.  ..  B.’  , •iw.'.k'l  ' sjfs,n  . .*^^■•1.  a*  ',r*h'.  •<»  ^\S5^  Aji'i't'.' v'f  i^T*- #•* A»#  .&ir%nr 


[E. 


, . l.'i4nIiP.i,‘Kl»  , ■ ’.  - .:L- ‘A  . mISb, 


'AV  i 


Early  in  the  fourteenth  century  the  story  was  included 
in  the  Italian  compilation,  Cento  Novelle  Ant iohe . ^ hut  with  a 
new  framework  and  a new  conclusion.  It  is  there  told  by  a wealthy 
Jew,  who  is  asked  by  a grasping  sultan  the  embarrassing  question. 
What  is  the  true  religion?  Whichever  way  he  answers,  he  will  give 
the  sultan  a pretext  for  confiscating  his  wealth.  The  Jew  shrewdly 
replies  with  this  story  of  a father  who  gave  each  of  his  sons  a 
ring,  two  of  which  were  imitations  of  the  original  genuine  one. 

This  non-Christian  framework  betrays  the  Oriental  influence  which 
has  now  taken  possession  of  the  story;  the  conclusion  is  no  longer 
Christian;  the  rings  are  indistinguishable,  and  only  the  father 
could  ever  tell  the  original  from  the  imitations. 

This  version  is  by  some  scholars  believed  to  be  the 
source  of  Boccaccio's  famous  tale  in  the  Decameron.  But  others 
point  out  that  a fuller  version  exists  in  Busone  da  Gubbio's 
Avyenturoso  Ci^l liano,  and  still  others  think  that  the  story  was 
so  widely  current  in  this  sceptical  form  that  Boccaccio  was  indebted 
to  an  oral  tradition,  which  perhaps  had  in  it  elements  of 
Rabbinical  origin.  In  the  conclusion  of  Boccaccio's  story  we  have 
even  more  clearly  and  emphatically  stated  the  tolerant  notion  that 
there  is  some  truth  in  all  three  religions,  and  that  the  preten- 
sions of  each  to  be  alone  genuine  can  not  be  substantiated.  "E 
cosi  Vi  dico,  signor  mio,  delle  tre  Leggi  alii  tre  popoli  date  da 

^No.  73  in  the  edition  in  Bibliotheca  Romanica. Strassburg  (n.d). 

On  the  influence  of  Arabian  culture  on  this  idea  of  comparative 
religion,  see  Renan,  Aver roes  et  I'Averrolsme.  pp.  278-ff . 

Burckhardt,  p.493.  Lee,  pp. 11-12. 


I 


■ »' ■ ' '‘*.,1*' ■».  I*  ■;..•■(  , . *.'1  >■  ■ ' ' > ' ' •'  ’ 'Mm  IfMt 


•',1'v  ' ■■ 

>ntiif  i 


^'Y^'JbiW  '*kr»tr"  '^- ■-'^‘^ •■ 

" aji^  ^^umit->.--(.:-p  ' 


IV 

’ ' Ip  ' ' r,  / :•,  , - ..  ■"'  ■*'%  y-  i 


^’iV  ^ •(  ^ , 7TT  ■ •'  » •'*•“  '.’  J ' \ 

^'  ■ . ¥ . .'  ^ > li'  "*»^  ' ^ .,  ' UtI  • ' • ’ IjtC'  • ' ,.  i 

■'  a.'  .j  , *.  ^.  ' A V j*' .-^>1  r.iA.  .1  A ♦'^.aSiVrt'i  W^.i '-fi  4A'Yf  1 


r„  '"'T  ^ ‘ k ■ >ii'  ' '••»^  ^ ' ' ‘i"  . • :,  it^.  t ^ 

?•  £'',&'*■  -t  jj’o-  V'i 

£lr.'':'.  .'’Pii.  Z t tM. . ..  4 !i.>^l3R^*M  t!l  4^  iS  \ 


'*^^i 

k*';  ■’..%  ‘ !\'i  . . .rf..;^.«...X' '■j?wi  fc^Aifu  .. r-f->..Vf''Vk-H-*(i.ii4'*  ■fc«jir-'*raA.wi.'b  »l©o  ‘iwi® 


S.1? 


n'tS.i 


fi>l  , .>  ]iaI 


«!tLi.i  *..  iti.' ..'’li'Uj'.i.fiB  - k^ 


,7  ?••'  ...  I ' s-  . ...  : ->.'r  ■ Try *<r *r.y-wy;fy.  rTJF^-’',’7T^f  ' ■•;/  ■ .-a^  ;-'  rt^ 

r::.,  V : ' : <,. ■ , '' 


•K. 


liii  .'  ii  r,  S Ai  ' 7^  I 


'':■  r- 


49 


Dio  Padre,  delle  quali  la  quistion  proponeste:  ciascuno  la  sua 
eredita,  la  sua  vera  Legge,  et  i suoi  commandamenti  si  crede  avere 
a fare;  ma  chi  se  I'abbia,  come  degli  anelli,  ancora  ne  pende  la 
quistione . 

But  the  comparative  study  of  religions  may  equally  well 
emphasize  the  falsity  as  the  truth  of  all  religions,  and  for  the 
existence  in  the  late  Middle  Ages  of  this  more  sceptical  tendency, 
we  have  evidence  in  the  notorious  De  Tribus  Impostoribus.  said  to 
have  had  its  origin  at  the  court  of  Frederick  II,  the  most  cosmo- 


politan in  Europe;  by  one  tradition  the  book  is  ascribed  to  the 
monarch  himself.  The  three  impostors  were  of  course  Jesus, 

Mohammed  and  Moses,  the  founders  of  the  three  religions.  This 
peculiar  treatise  was  mysteriously  referred  to  as  a scandal  from 
the  thirteenth  century  on  through  the  Renaissance;  in  the  seven- 
teenth and  eighteenth  centuries  there  was  a protracted  debate  as  to 
whether  the  book  had  ever  existed.  One  printed  copy,  however,  dated 
1598,  has  been  discovered,  but  the  volume  had  its  chief  influence 
as  a legend.  The  title  was  everywhere  known  and  almost  proverbial, 
and  the  scoffing  spirit  which  it  represented  had  an  underground 
circulation  in  the  Renaissance,  the  extent  of  which  we  can  now  ^orm 
no  definite  notion.^ 


Milano^U883)~  Giornata  prima,  novella  terza. 

2 • p.  . 

De  T^r^  Imppstoribus,  ed.  Brunet,  G. , Paris  (1861).  See  account 

Theologie  und  Kirche . 3rd  ed.  Leipzig 
+ 72-ff.~  A typical  Renaissance  allusion  to  this  work  by 

two  English  writers,  neither  of  whom  probably  had  seen  it,  occurs  in 
the  literary  quarrel  between  Harvey  and  Nashe.  As  Nashe  was  knom 
as  the  English  Aretine,"  Harvey  deals  him  a back-hand  blow  by 
accusing  Aretine  of  the  authorship  of  this  "most  detestable  Black- 
Dooke  . A New  Letter  Notable  Contents  (1593) . Harvey's  Works 


A 


TO''V’ 


'T.Tr* 


U.iS 


'.  ;i??r!vv..,  ’ - ^ •■  , -'.r/  • ..;  • ‘■^".Tr  ‘.. xki  '\^''.  II 


fi-'  r; 


i 


r,/'  ' ..■•  ^f#,':;  . rl.r'/ 


Wif  ^ /l  tw  ■ . . . . . ivV  r » ?■  I .e.-^K  ♦ ' t\i  Ifv  Virf  "!  ' 


V'W*^  I ^ ‘V  ! '-.  " ,.  , i'*  ' ^--101  ^'vT, 

, I «4.p;  apsiSat>  ;&«  ^ WW>>.V ' A i-*.«.^ 

^t,>  «a:’d>^»  -^'itff  X®  .L^SW'iSS 


50 


The  v7ay  was  therefore  well  prepared  for  the  sixteenth 
century  practice  of  using  the  dialogue  as  an  instrument  of 
criticism  of  Christianity,  under  the  guise  of  a defense.  Only  a 
few  of  the  more  celebrated  of  these  treatises  can  be  enumerated 
here.  Servetus,  in  De  Trinitatis  Dialogj  (1532),  and  Bernardino 
Ochino,  in  malogue  de  la  Trinit e (1563),  attacked  the  doctrine  of 
the  Trinity;  Cardanus  inserted  a fragment  of  a dialogue  in  his  De 
subtilitate  (1553),  generally  regarded  as  a dangerous  book.  Jean 
Bodin,  in  his  Conoquium  Heotaplomeres.  presents  a clash  of  seven 
religious  and  philosophical  sects. ^ Such  dialogues,  with  their 
incisive  criticism  and  their  ridicule,  must  have  given  many  a 
student  a shock  of  disillusion  which  might  lead  him  to  a complete, 
but  secret,  agnosticism  or  atheism.  But  it  is  a mistake  to 


attribute  this  intention  to  them.  What  they  really  attempted  was 
to  rid  religion  of  its  superstition  and  establish  it  on  a firmer 
and  surer  foundation  than  revelation,  by  an  appeal  to  the  God-given 
instincts  of  mankind,  to  the  Law  of  Nature,  the  Consensus  gentium.^ 
The  connection  of  this  current  of  ideas  with  the  rise  of  Deism 
will  be  discussed  in  a future  chapter  on  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury. 


Nashe  replied  in  The  Unfortunate  Traveller 
if??-'  I?  transferring  the  accusation  to  "one  of  Machine  Is 

The  nlmes  n?  i McKerrow,  London (1904) . II,  265. 

SL TlLf list.  ^°°^sed  of  the  authorship  of  this  book  would 

Bodins  Colloquium  Heotanlomerea  und  der 
16- -Jahrhundert s . Historische  Zeitschrift~ 

(1914; , 260-315i  and  114(1915) , 237l36l. ^ 

This  proposition  is  laid  down  even  in  the  extant  version  of  De 
I^postoribus:  "Religionem  et  cultum  Dei  secundum  dictamen 
i^lnis  naturalis  consentaneum  et  veritati  et  aequitati  esse." 
d.  Brunet,  p.l2.  Quoted  by  Owen,  Skeptics  of  the  Italian 
^naissance.  p.30,  n.l.  


51 


IV 

The  Reformation 


Like  the  other  movements  of  emancipation  of  the  fifteenth 
and  sixteenth  centuries,  the  Reformation  had  its  secret  origins 
deep  in  the  Middle  Ages.  The  great  institutionalizing  effort  of 
Medievalism,  its  dream  of  world  organization  and  authority  in  the 
realms  of  government,  religion  and  education,  met  with  inevitable 
failure,  almost  from  the  very  beginning.  We  have  already  seen  how 
the  philosophical  basis  of  Medievalism,  immediately  after  Aquinas 
had  constructed  on  it  his  supposedly  impregnable  fortress,  crumbled 
under  the  attacks  of  Duns  Scotus  and  William  of  Occam.  While  it 
would  be  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  these  doughty  British  insur- 


gents "anticipated"  the  Reformation,  still  their  effective 
criticism  of  universalism  made  possible  — even  necessary  — an 
individualism  in  religious  matters  which  first  manifested  itself  in 
emphasis  on  mystical  piety  within  the  Catholic  church,  and  later  in 
a denial  of  the  right  of  the  church  to  mediate  between  the  believing 
soul  and  God.  The  essential  and  fundamental  principle  of  the 
Reformation,  as  of  the  Renaissance  as  a whole,  was  individualism; 
and  the  acrimoniousness  of  the  debates  over  doctrine  and  practice 
is  explained  by  this  purpose  of  the  Reformation  spirit,  not  merely 
to  cleanse  the  Catholic  church,  but  to  destroy  it?“ 


Reformation.  Hibbert  Lectures,  1883.  5th 
(1907).  p.  2:  "The  Ref  ormat  ion,  in  the  view  which  I shall 
•caxe  Of  It,  was  not,  primarily,  a theological,  a religious,  an 
ecclesiastical  movement  at  all.  It  was  part  of  a general  awakening 
Ox  tne  human  intellect,  which  had  already  begun  in  the  fourteenth 
century,  and  which  the  revival  of  classical  learning  and  the  inven- 

2'^  printing  urged  on  with  accelerating  rapidity  in 
life  of  the  Renaissance  infused  into 


52 

Here  a qualification  is  necessary.  Though  the  Reformation 
rejected  the  authority  of  the  church  to  determine  what  is  truth,  it 
affirmed  with  equal  emphasis  the  principle  that  there  is  one  truth, 
a principle  which  readmits  somewhere  the  principle  of  authority.  The 
Reformers  did  not  at  once  seek  emancipation  from  dogmatism,  but 
merely  the  liberty  of  each  individual  of  formulating  his  own  dogma 
and  maintaining  it  against  contenders.  In  practice  this  position 
led  to  innumerable  sects  and  endless  disputation,  and  very  soon  to 
a hard  and  illiberal  temper  and  a rigid  formulation  of  doctrines  for 
polemical  reasons,  which  has  sometimes  been  called  "Protestant 
scholasticism."  A new  tyranny  then  controlled  the  consciences  and 
intelligence  within  each  sect;  Calvin  became  the  "Pope  of  Geneva"; 
alliances  of  these  new  sects  with  various  political  powers  made 
possible  a Protestant  persecution,  as  rigorous  in  some  cases  as  the 
Catholic.  Yet  in  spite  of  these  counter-currents  within  the 
Reformation,  it  must  be  set  down  as  on  the  whole  an  emancipatory 
movement,  both  in  principle  and  in  its  far-reaching  results.  As 
this  is  the  commonly  held  conception  of  the  Reformation,  no  dis-  I 

cussion  is  necessary  to  enforce  it.  But  in  order  to  connect  the 
Reformation  more  precisely  with  the  sceptical  movement  of  the 
Renaissance,  I shall  point  out  two  ways  in  which  it  directly  and 
immediately  stimulated  greater  freedom  of  thought. 

In  the  fixst  place,  in  the  multitude  of  new  sects  there 
was  room  for  all  shades  of  opinion,  from  English  episcopacy  with  an 
almost  Roman  Catholic  spirit,  to  vague  forms  of  Unitarianism.  The 
most  influential  of  the  more  liberal  sects  was  Socinianism,  which 
from  Poland  spread  into  Germ^y,  Holland  and  England.  Its  founder, 
Lelio  Socinus  (1525-1562),  was  one  of  a number  of  brilliant  Italians 


53 


who  had  to  emigrate  during  the  sixteenth  century  to  escape  per- 
secution and  perhaps  death,  and  who  were  all  distinguished  for 
I their  incisive  criticism  of  the  leading  doctrines  of  Christianity, 
especially  the  Trinity  and  the  deity  of  Christ.  This  sect  died  out 
i;i  the  seventeenth  century,  but  though  its  life  was  short,  says 
Punjer,  "so  much  the  more  widely  did  the  decomposing  influence  of 
their  cold  intellectual  criticism  extend.  And  Socinianism  thus 
became  one  of  the  most  essential  preparations  for  the  enlightenment 
of  the  deistic  rationalism."!  Other  sects  of  less  intellectual  and 
more  pietistic  cast,  such  as  the  Anabaptists  and  Family  of  Love, 
were  less  likely  to  indulge  in  destructive  criticism,  but  even  they 
rejected  freely  some  of  the  essential  Christian  tenets.  There  was 


a saying  that  a Socinian  was  a learned  Anabaptist.  How  audacious 
some  of  these  individualists  in  religion  could  be,  is  shoro  by  the 
doctrines  of  certain  Anabaptists  in  London,  who  asserted  before  a 
commission  of  bishops  in  1549  that 

a man  regenerate  could  not  sin;  that  thouarh  the 
outward  man  sinned,  the  inward  man  sinned  not:  that 
there  was  no  Trinity  of  Persons;  that  Christ  was 
only  a holy  ppphet  and  not  at  all  God;  that  all 
we  had  by  Christ  was  that  he  taught  us  the  way  to 
heaven;  that  he  took  no  flesh  of  the  Virgin;  and 
that  the  baptism  of  infants  was  not  prof itable . 

Though  they  nowhere  became  numerous,  such  dangerous  sects  were 

constantly  springing  up  and  causing  grave  concern  to  Protestant 

leaders  both  in  church  and  state;  persecution  could  not  eradicate 

them,  and  they  deserve  grateful  recognition  from  posterity,  at 

least  for  their  share  in  the  victory  of  the  principle  of  tolerance 


^Plinjer,  ed.  cit.  p.207. 

llth°ed^  Conybeare,  F.  C.,  article  on  Anabaptists,  Encvc.  Brit. 


ti^’^''  ' *1''  1-  ■ -'  '^  ' ,■'•■*.'  '^■’  '■  J 


«3>  ■»’  , 

^w*;|..ii-S54.IXvJ<I.'?.  fc>!»t  >!>: 

1'-  V'  T , '■  * ■ r’„ 

?, 


.•b!l 


i-l*i;i'>K,  utaiaii^ . wyK'Si  .'ftS  jii''  frff-at'  ikta#  ae^tioiilw^ 


•'■hr  . . • » *r  ’■►<«■/-  4 , b^-jr«>.’,. 

‘ ' 


P'V  '■  ^'  '.  \.  ; *^,'>'.  *,-rf.’.  •'•.  ■•  ' ■ W ifi^i  **'■.■ 


54 


in  the  seventeenth  century. 

In  the  second  place,  these  religious  schisms  and  contro- 
versies had  the  effect  of  making  men  sceptical  about  all  religion. 
Montaigne  tells  us  how  hie  father  foresaw  that  the  result  of 
Lutheranism  would  be  atheism;  for  the  criticism  of  a few  doctrines 
would  lead  to  a general  questioning  of  all,  even  those  essential 
to  salvation.  Catholics  were  constantly  warning  gigainst  this 
danger  in  Protestanism,  and  there  is  abundant  evidence  that  they 
did  not  do  so  merely  from  prejudice.  Hooker,  speaking  of  atheists, 
says  that  "with  our  contentions  their  irreligious  humour  also  is 
much  strengthened.  Nothing  pleaseth  them  better  than  these  mani- 
fold oppositions  upon  the  matter  of  religion.  . . because  by  this 
hot  pursuit  of  lower  controversies  among  men  professing  religion, 
and  agreeing  in  the  principal  foundations  thereof,  they  conceive 
hope  that  about  the  higher  principles  themselves  time  will  cause 
altercation  to  grow."^  Likewise  the  Huguenot  leader.  La  Noue,  com- 
plains that  the  civil  wars  waged  by  the  religious  factions  of 
France  produced  a class  of  light-minded  atheists.  Libertines,  and 
Epicureans  numbering,  he  thinks,  at  least  a million.^  "Si  on 
demands,”  he  says,  "qui  a produit  une  telle  generation,  on  ne 
respondra  pas  mal,  que  ce  sont  nos  guerres  pour  la  Religion,  qui 
nous  ont  fait  oublier  la  Religion. 

^Montaigne,  Essays.  Book  II,  Chap.  xii. 

^Hooker,  R. , Of  the  Laws  of  Ecclesiastical  Polity.  Bk.  V,  ii,  2. 

La  Noue,  Discours  Politigues  et  Milltaires.  Basle  (1587).  p.34. 

See  also  the  24th  Discourse,  pp.  492-525. 

4 

La  Noue,  p.  5. 


55  I 


V 

Paganism:  the  Culture  of  the  Libertines 

As  we  have  seen,  the  desire  for  perfection  in  human 
nature  took  in  the  Middle  Ages  the  form  of  a desire  for  knowledge; 
in  the  knowledge  of  God  the  men  of  that  time  sought  their  blessed- 
ness. Such  an  aspiration  could  of  course  find  place  only  for  the 
rational  and  "universal  elements  of  human  nature;  the  non-rational, 
the  individual  elements,  the  guiddam  suum  ac  pronrium.  were  obstacles 
in  the  way  of  happiness.  The  imagination,  the  senses,  and  the 
instincts  were  the  enemies  of  the  soul  — the  "flesh"  in  league  with 
the  devil.  Medieval  religious  life,  in  short,  was  ascetic.  And  to 
make  our  account  of  the  emancipation  from  medievalism  complete,  we 
must  point  out  how  a new  cult  of  humanity  was  substituted,  through 
the  influence  of  classical  literature,  for  the  asceticism  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  It  is  true  that  a certain  amount  of  individualism  was 
stimulated  in  the  imaginative  life  of  the  Reformation  by  the  mysti- 
cism which  we  have  noted  as  a significant  development  at  the  con- 
clusion of  the  Middle  Ages.^  But  the  Reformation  was  too  narrow, 
too  preoccupied  with  theology,  to  produce  any  culture  that  would  by 
contrast  show  the  defects  of  Medievalism.  This  task  was  accomplished 
by  the  Renaissance  passion  for  classical  letters  and  the  consequent 
diffusion  of  paganism.  In  this  restoration  of  pagan  poetry  and 
ideals  of  life,  Italy  was  the  first  among  modern  nations  and 
Petrarch  the  "first  modern  man." 


thought  the  medieval  Theolog-ia  Germanioa. 
and  Augustine,  the  most  valuable  booklbe  had  read, 
bee  j^eologia  Germanioa.  trans.  Winkworth,  Susanna.  London  (1913). 
introductimn  ^ xxi . 


J 


'K  V‘ 


I® j!(y ■:  ■ ' ■:■  ■ : ■.  ■ ■v;;^t->-\  .,.  • ■ 


':*•.<'•'■■  U - I . . i .->:■  J ■,,  ^ N . ..♦  «i4*.>  >W3i'  ■ Is  l/iailf  1(01.1'-^^  -'I:' 


' ■ 


■ *»'  <;!>.,  i«7  ■ ■ •"  ■ ■ />  T'-,  ‘j  V,  ‘ . ■ , . j-j»  A ■'  i*'  . ’'■'  vti 

. . -is4i^v'^4^  f.-t,  #rv '.  ■ 


L'jO- 


s'  ’'  'W', 

- 14  "T  • •'!'*  ‘ ..' 


-•  ■ v^ . 


56 


When  Boccaccio  was  in  his  fifty-first  year  a certain 
Peter  of  Sienna,  a holy  man,  sent  a prophetic  message  from  his 
death-bed  to  the  famous  man  of  letters,  that  few  years  of  his  life 
remained  to  him,  and  that  on  pain  of  his  eternal  damnation  he  mu.st 
renounce  the  study  of  poetry.  This  warning  voice  of  the  ascetic 
Middle  Ages  troubled  Boccaccio,  and  he  confided  his  fears  to 
Petrarch.  But  Petrarch,  after  serious  and  respectful  consideration, 
replied  as  a humanist:  "To  desert  our  studies  shows  want  of  self- 

confidence  rather  than  wisdom,  for  letters  do  not  hinder  but  aid 
the  properly  constituted  mind  which  possesses  them;  they  facilitate 
our  life,  they  do  not  retard  it."^  Only  weak  stomachs,  he  goes  on 
to  say,  have  to  be  so  careful  about  their  diet.  We  who  are  strong 
may  cultivate  pagan  literature,  not  only  with  impunity,  but  to  our 
great  advantage . 

Petrarch  decided  in  favor  of  poetry.  But  perhaps  he  would 
have  hesitated  more  had  he  foreseen  all  the  developments  of  the 
study  of  antiquity.  The  cult  of  poetry  which  he  defended  was  the 
cult  of  humanity:  Homo  sum,  human!  nihil  a ^ allenum  puto.  But 

the  formula  is  a wide  one  and  capable  of  many  interpretations.  And 
the  cult  of  humanity  soon  degenerated  from  the  fine  idealism  such  as 
Seneca  s gaud i urn  rg s se ve ra  est  to  a refined  but  facile  epicureanism 
J^hich  appealed  to  "Nature"  for  a justification  of  its  excesses. 

Italy,  where  this  paganism  in  life  and  conduct  first  developed, 
became  notorious  for  it.  Lorenzo  Valla  (1406-1457)  even  sought  in 
his  dialogue  De_  Voluptate  to  interpret  Christian  blessedness  as  a 
form  of  yoluptas,  refined  and  elevated  to  be  sure,  and  the  "mother 

^Robinson,  J.  H.,  and  Rolfe,  H.  W.,  Petrarch.  N.  Y.  (1907).  p.392. 


of  virtues." 


But  this  philosophy  of  pleasure  was  inconsistent 
with  Christianity,  and  usually  found  lodgment  in  those  Renaissance 
minds  which  were  predisposed  to  be  sceptical  or  indifferent  towards 
religion;  it  was  more  easily  combined  with  the  atomistic  materialism 
of  Lucretius,  whose  Re rum  Natura  became  the  most  popular 
classical  volume  among  the  Libertines.  This  paganism  in  thought 
and  feeling,  this  epicureanism,  intellectual  and  aesthetic  as  well 
as  sensual,  was  the  contribution  of  ancient  letters  to  the  Italian 
Renaissance,  and,  combined  with  cynicism  and  indifference  with 
regard  to  moral  and  religious  matters,  it  pervades  the  vernacular 
Italian  literature  of  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries.^ 


Paganism  penetrated  only  much  later  into  northern  Europe, 
and  therefore  had  to  contend  with  the  full  force  of  the  Reformation. 
Erasmus,  who  had  found  in  the  example  of  Valla  the  inspiration  for 
his  own  life  and  work,^  -wrote  in  1517  that  he  feared  that  under  the 
cover  of  the  study  of  ancient  literature,  paganism  would  raise  its 
head  for  many  people  were  Christians  in  appearance  only.^  This 
distrust  was  shared  by  most  of  the  Humanists  of  northern  Europe  in 
the  first  half  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  they  therefore 
appropriated  chiefly  the  Stoic  and  Platonic  elements  of  ancient 
culture,  as  more  easily  reconcilable  with  Christian  earnestness  and 
moral  fervor.  But  about  the  middle  of  the  century  the  paganism  and 

negazione  e della  indifferenza  che  nuocera 
tanto  all  Italia."  Settem.brini,  L.,  Lezioni  di  Letteratura 
italiana_,  16th  ed.,  Naples  (1894).  I,  274. 

and  throughout  his  life  expressed  this  indebted 
ness  Especially  significant  in  this  connection  are  some  youthful 

Cornelius  Gerard,  in  which  he  defends 
character  of  Valla,  who  has  been  maligned  by 
AUen,  P.S.,  Opus  Epistolarum  Des.Era.gmi 
3 vols.  Oxford  (1910).  I,  112-120?^ 

Unus  adhuc  scrupulus  habet  animum  meum,  ne  sub  obtextur  priscae 


‘“■‘f ■;  .-M  ».'4 i 0 i.t^i  /; riWV'i^B t 


. -•■:  ,i-''-;j^fl>''~:- ■•'  ■'■•  *•  '.  - - ■ '.  ~ - 


■■  -i-  M''  ■ ■ ■ ■'  , , . ''’T.  ^ 

1:0^  eTW'-’ S«--.!'  <i*:ti»'  ‘ft-gv: 


[..,  ^.r,-  _ ,,:.f.  Ml  ^..t 


»M 


,1  • ■“-  f\  fT"  '^'•■  'tv  ' - '’  ’ ' Wi'  ' •' '• 


immorality  of  Italian  culture,  the  "Italian  danger",  began  to  spread 
rapidly  among  the  constantly  growing  class  of  non-clerical  educated 
men.  The  English  phase  of  this  development  will  be  discussed  in 
the  next  chapter,  but  the  French  may  be  outlined  here  very  briefly.  | 
Though  he  had  predecessors,  less  out-spoken  and  consistent 
than  himself,  in  Rabelais,  Desperiers,  and  Dolet,  Montaigne  may  be 
considered  the  real  originator  of  the  pagan  tradition  in  French 
thought  and  literature.  He  did  not  conceal  himself  under  the  veil 


of  an  amusing  allegory;  Montaigne  put  dov^n  in  his  Essays  the  frank 
confessions  of  a man  who  was  above  all  things  sincere.  Therefore, 
even  though  he  lacked  moral  earnestness,  his  intellectual  sincerity 
gave  to  his  record  of  his  inmost  personal  development  that 
fascination  and  power  which  it  has  ever  since  exercised  over 

thoughtful  men.  Such  a man  inevitably  inspires  discipleship  and 
founds  a tradition. 

This  personal  development  was  in  effect  a revolution,  an 
uprising  against  Stoicism,  the  current  philosophy  of  the  Humanists. 
Montaigne  was  never  weary  of  railing  at  the  unnatural  rigidity  of 
Stoicism;  he  himself  knew  but  one  precept.  Follow  Nature.  And  as 
his  eminent  Stoic  contemporary,  Du  Vair,  said.  Nature  and  Stoicism 
can  never  be  reconciled;  we  must  choose  which  one  of  them  we  shall 
retain.  Montaigne  saw  clearly  the  necessity  of  this  choice,  and 
made  it  with  calm  insouciance.  And  the  Nature  he  sought  to 
elucidate  and  follow  was  his  own  individual  and  peculiar  Nature. 

conetur  paganismus,  ut  sunt 

caeteri^^  Christianos  qui  titulo  pene  duntaxat  Christum  a^noscunt, 
caeterum  intus  gentilitatem  spirant.-  Allen,  P.S.,  op.  cit.  II/491. 

d’acillmatP^nr^®''''^  ve^ritable  ...  a 

a.^acciimater  la  morale  payenne  en  France." 

Du  Vair,  Qevres  Politique s ^ Morales.  Geneva  (1631)  . p.899. 


Ifc.;^  i^4£a-r«>«.  ^4.  f 1^ 


V * -r'-  ’^■*  w*  . , -.  . .■?-■;  . 


^j/->  . ,*.vf??.  ,*.  . ■ 


'^‘ - '•'  t'  * ' ' '•■  I.',  ' ' '/'■  ^ '•  *’• 

»;■'  ^ -jL>^  -fK  «*>>*• ‘Vi  v^  i-e«>t‘ti"kT  na*  vi**4taar«*  ffife 


^ f '* V.  ' *-  . ;■ . ;p4^  ‘6a : 9.70»v«« : ?£ ^«*-.  • 

- - -~--^^---SS^.  :.-vy?^  -^!^M 


59 


"I  study  myself,”  he  said,  "more  than  any  other  subject.  It  is  my 
supernatural!  Metaphysike,  it  is  my  naturall  Philosophy."^ 
Montaigne's  upright  and  well-intentioned  friend,  the  priest  Pierre 
Charron  (1541-1603)  tried  in  vain  to  combine  this  naturalism  of 

I 

Montaigne  with  the  Stoicism  of  Du  Vair;^  his  book  la  Sagesse 
(1601)  was  read  only  for  its  echoes  of  Montaigne,  and  shortly 
became  known  as  the  breviary  of  the  Libertines,  the  "beaux-esprits, " 


who,  according  to  Pere  Garasse,  denied  any  divinity  or  supreme 
power  in  the  world  except  Nature,  which,  they  held,  we  must  satisfy 
in  all  matters,  vvithout  denying  anything  to  our  senses  which  they 
might  desire  in  the  exercise  of  their  natural  powers  and  faculties.^ 
The  new  names  for  these  Libertines,  the  "esprits  forts"  and  "beaux- 
esprits,"  indicate  the  characteristics  of  the  movement  in  France  in 
the  seventeenth  century;  they  prided  themselves  on  their  study  of 
refinement,  their  cleverness,  and  their  intellectual  and  moral 
audacity.  Libertinism  had  won  both  a social  and  a philosophical 
success  — it  could  afford  to  be  gay,  care-free,  satirical,  con- 
fident of  its  position  of  superiority.  It  had  behind  it  a great 


tradition;  it  had  acquired  a library  of  its  ovm,"^  it  became  an 
important  force  in  the  intellectual  and  literary  life  of  France, 


^Montaigne,  Essaves.  trans.  Florio.  Ed.  Everyman,  III,  331. 
gCf.  Strowski,  F.,  De  Montaigne  a Pascal,  ed.  cit.  pp.  176-ff. 

^ ^^ra'Sse^__La  Doctrine  curieuse  des  beaux  esprits  de  ce  temps. 
Paris  U6237T-  For  a good  summary  of  this  volume,  with  quotations, 
see  Notice  sur  Theophile . xxxix-ff.,  in  the  first  volume  of 

Oeuvres  Completes,  ed.  Alleaume,  2 vols.,  Paris  (1856). 

This  library,  according  to  Garasse,  included  in  the  first  rank, 
Pomponatius,  Paracelsus  and  Macchiavelli;  in  the  second,  Cardanus, 
Vanini  and  Charron;  in  the  third,  the  satires  on  the  religious 
orders;  but  "outre  et  par-desus  ces  trois  ordres  et  livres,  les 
Libertins  ont  en  main  le  Rabelais  comme  I'Enchiridion  du 
libertinage . " — Quoted  by  Strowski,  op.  cit.  p.  160. 


'Ar>i 


I ^ T ■ * . ■'  ■ J. ~ ' 


.... 


rii 


PBiJ  .1.  IrJelS 


l«'  »■>•.■'••  .■  r V s ..-'f^flWL  ' • '.s.'^r-i'c-?'* 


60 


and  reappeared  in  a long  line  of  French  classics  from  Moliere  to 
Voltaire . 

VI 

The  Revival  of  Greek  Scepticism 

Scepticism  as  a philosophical  school  was  founded  by 
Pyrrho  of  Elis,  who  after  taking  part  in  Alexander’s  campaign  to 
India,  settled  in  his  native  city  and  taught  that  seeking  after 
knowledge  was  vain,  and  that  indifference  to  all  philosophical 
assertions  was  the  only  way  to  peace  of  mind.  Against  every 
proposition  the  truly  wise  man  should  balance  its  contrary  and  thus, 
by  showing  the  futility  of  both,  he  might  arrive  at  the  happy  state 
of  imperturbability  (ataraxia) . But  though  Pyrrho  thus  absolutely 
denied  the  value  of  the  life  of  reason,  his  ethics,  strangely 
enough,  were  conservative  and  conventional;  for  this  imperturbable 
agnostic  held  that  the  only  guide  in  practical  conduct  was  custom. 

Pyrrho  determined  the  fundamental  doctrines  of  the  ancient 
sceptical  tradition,  which  lasted  more  or  less  continuously  for  five 
centuries  and  included  among  its  leaders,  Arcesilaus,  Carneades, 
Aenesidemus  and  Sextus  Empiricus.  The  writings  of  Sextus  alone 
have  been  preserved,  and  they,  with  Cicero  and  Diogenes  Laertius, 
are  the  main  source  of  our  knowledge  of  the  earlier  adherents  of 
the  school.  This  long  life  of  the  Sceptical  school  in  antiquity  is 
explained  largely  by  the  persistent  irritating  dogmatism  of  the 

^T^  P^r^honic  Hynotyposes  and  Against  the  Mathematicians:  standard 
Greek  text  with  Latin  translation,  by  Fabricius,  Leipzig- 
U718;;  reprinted  by  Kuhn,  3 vols.,  Leipzig  (1842).  " 


■■  ^ ■ ..:  ’ ' ' ■ ■'  /'•  ■'  ' f‘.  N 

f\v  • ■'  ■ . • ■ - 


I'*’'''  ->■  ' ■ 


-V  ---  ■ r": 

..:  I?l'  ; /'  f. 


'mv'  i.''i  ' • ■■•  !Sfc/;^:^a2  y*<tSf,‘o 

,,  iife;^  :,^4' 

yi'  6 si, '.«?;«■■  '■^'  '«’>•_  I 


* Oi 


S , 


schools  it  attacked,  the  Stoics  and  Epicureans,  who,  as  Cicero 
said  (De  Natura  Depru^  I,  viii.),  discussed  the  universe  with  such 
assurance,  with  the  air  of  having  just  descended  from  an  assembly 


Throughout  the  Middle  Ages  the  sceptical  philosophy  of 
antiquity  remained  practically  unkno’wn.  Some  echoes  of  it  from 
Cicero,  Augustine,  and  the  Npctes  Atticae  of  Aulus  Gellius,  can  be 
traced  in  the  Pplycraticus  (Book  VII)  of  John  of  Salisbury,  in 
Henry  of  Ghent,  and  in  Siger  of  Brabant,  all  of  whom  demonstrate 
the  necessity  of  believing  in  the  efficacy  of  the  reason;  but  their 
discussions  are  superficial,  and  their  knowledge  of  ancient 
scepticism^necessarily  extremely  vague  and  fragmentary.  A curious 
manuscript  of  the  Hypotyposes  of  Sextus,  in  a bad  Latin  translation, 
dating  from  the  Middle  Ages,  has  indeed  been  found  by  Charles 
Jourdain  in  the  Bibliotheque  Nationals,^  but  it  is  an  isolated 

phenomenon.  The  Middle  Ages  did  not  even  know  the  names  of  Pyrrho 
and  Sextus, 

We  have  seen  ho7/  the  ambitious  intellectual  effort  of 
the  Middle  Ages  provoked  the  scepticism  of  Duns  Scotus  and  William 
of  Occam.  But  this  scepticism,  after  all,  was  directed  only  against 
the  dogmatism  of  the  Aristotelian  theologians;  it  was  never  per- 


■»15  !-  '.i,' 


g5.|  ^0 


62 


mitted  to  go  all  the  way  to  the  bitterest  disillusion.  Alternative 
to  the  Aristotelian  logic  were  sought  by  such  men  as  Petrus 
Hispanus  (1336-1277),  Nicolaus  of  Cusa  (1401-1464)  and  Peter  Ramus 
(1515—1572),  and  their  effort  testifies  to  the  persistence  of  the 
faith  that  some  sort  of  knowledge  is  possible.  Even  when  a 
thorough  scepticism  first  appears  in  incert itudine  e t vanitate 
soientiarum  (1531)  by  Cornelius  Agrippa  (1487-1535),  we  are  pre- 
vented from  attaching  much  significance  to  it  by  the  fact  that  in 
the  sixteenth  century  this  book  was  considered  only  a source  of 
amusing  paradoxes  with  which  gentlemen  might  spice  their 
conversation. ^ 

But  in  1563  the  French  scholar-publisher,  Henri  Estienne 
(1532-1598),  reputed  the  "prince  of  atheists,"  revived  classical 
scepticism  by  his  publication  of  the  Greek  text  with  Latin  trans- 
lation and  commentary,  of  the  Hvnotvposes  of  Sextus  Empiricus.  This 
volume  was  fated  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  Montaigne  and  precipitate 
the  crisis  in  his  development  by  which  he  passed  from  the  Stoicism 
of  his  first  essays  to  the  Naturalism  of  his  greatest  and  most 
characteristic  work.  Through  Montaigne,  Pyrrhonism  passed  into 
Charron  and  the  Libertine  movement  of  France,  until  Pascal  seized 
it  as  a propaedeutic  to  Christianity. 

In  this  revival  of  Greek  scepticism  little  emphasis  was 
laid  on  the  ethical  ideal  of  imperturbability.  What  attracted  the 
men  of  the  Renaissance  was  the  new  destructive  criticism  of  the 
common-sense  theory  of  knowledge,  which  raised  problems  undreamed 


1 

See  Villey,  Pierre,  Les  Sources,  etc.,  II,  177-ff. 


63 


of  in  the  Middle  Ages.  Nominalism  had  contended  that  universals 
were  mere  concepts,  existed  only  in  the  mind  of  the  thinker;  but 
Greek  scepticism  declared  that  even  as  concepts  they  are  futile 
and  misleading,  for  all  knowledge  is  built  up  from  sense  impressions 
and  who  can  test  the  reliability  of  our  senses?  Such  imperfect 
examination  of  them  as  we  can  make  — a comparison  of  men  with 
one  another  and  of  men  with  animals  — tends  only  to  show  that  our 
senses  are  defective  and  give  us  a false  and  inadequate  impression 
of  the  world  about  us.  This  was  the  challenge  with  which  modern 
thought  became  familiar  in  Sextus,  and  which  the  seventeenth 
century  labored  to  meet  in  a long  series  of  treatises  on  the  j 

methods  of  knowledge.  And  in  setting  this  new  problem  of  modern 
thought,  the  scepticism  of  Sextus  helped  rid  the  Renaissance  of 
the  vestiges  of  medievalism  and  give  the  seventeenth  century  that 
modern  cast  which  distinguishes  it  from  the  sixteenth.  We  are  at 


home  in  the  agnosticism  of  Joseph  Glanvill,  couched  though  it  be 
in  the  rhythms  of  another  age: 

"Whatever  I look  upon  within  the  amplitude  of 
heaven  and  earth,  is  evidence  of  humane  ignorance; 

For  all  things  are  a greai;  darkness  to  us,  and  we 
are  so  to  ourselves:  The  plainest  things  are  as 

obscure,  as  the  most  confessedly  mysterious;  and 
the  plants  we  tread  on,  are  as  much  above  us,  as 
the  stars  and  heavens.  The  things  that  touch  us 
are  as  distant  from  us,  as  the  pole;  and  we  are 
as  much  strangers  to  ourselves,  as  to  the  inhabi- 
tants of  America."^ 


Glanvill,  Joseph,  An  Address  to  the  Royal  Society,  in  Scepsis 
Spientif ica.  London  TTsss)  . 


r V * ! ' ' i 

^«Tw'’'r  ; ^ ' ' t_‘  !•  *<j-  ' '■  _^  > '•*'■'  ■ '*'  ' ,^>:  ,j(  I t,  ■/ ^ ' *" ''^’’ijii 

‘-eiSi^VrSfai'  fb'i’l 

■'«  j ,,.  ' .’■  i'i-.' ■'  .>  / •’ '5*^ 

JiSffv 

^ij . r r:~  • /;u^  .'Ift#.t3i  ’W  V uk . . . «'  -“i 

.>■  t '‘■* "5  ..  J 1 


>'W 


t*.  /. 


V^' :<MI^I .! 

m^m,’ 


i 4.*'* ' . •.'  ^ *!>;  .i  .•5^-:.  ■'•  '>  ■'  "' 


' <>-•■'.  'X,  l/ifllSl  ..«*.' iJ^i-  i,li  T^.^.-'^MSir*.  , V, 

‘ nr-^T-  .»'i^*#>i"!tw»i»»».»iiriw<»|i>*‘-*»H|i(^^ 

,.  I'r'  . 'm  - ‘ liW  '-.  . .'  •■'■  ■ \.  V -iu  ^Vir'v.,'  '('/ii,i;'  ; ss  '..  ”i' 1 uii'ilL 


CHAPTER  TWO 


SCEPTICAL  TENDENCIES  IN  ENGLAND  IN  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY 


I.  Individualism  in  the  English  Reformation.-  II,  The  In- 
Queen  Elizabeth.-  III.  Heresy  as  a Crime. 

7rT  Italian  Danger.”-  V.  Machiavellism  in  England. 

VI.  The  "Atheism”  of  Marlowe  and  Raleigh. 


In  approaching  the  subject  of  the  sceptical  tendencies  in 
England  in  the  sixteenth  century,  the  student  must  first  be  warned 
of  the  nature  of  his  source-material.  It  is  both  fragmentary  and 
unreliable.  Necessarily  the  evidence  is  fragmentary  for  a movement 
of  thought  which  the  authorities,  both  ecclesiastical  and  secular, 
sought  in  every  way  to  repress,  even  by  means  of  not  infrequent 
burnings  at  the  staice.  In  England,  as  well  as  in  France,  Geneva, 
and  Rome,  intolerance  in  religion  was  the  accepted  principle,  and 
our  path  through  the  sixteenth  century  is  lighted  by  fires  and 
human  sacrifices.  How  great  the  effect  of  this  repression  was,  can 
never  be  told;  but  we  may  assume  that  it  was  greater  in  appearance 
than  in  reality.  No  doubt  many  a free-thinlr.er  of  that  time,  when 
brought  before  a solemn  court,  perhaps  after  a taste  of  torture, 
abjured  sincerely  and  penitently;  we  can  hardly  realize,  after  three 
centuries  of  progress  in  science  and  higher  criticism,  how  pre- 
carious religious  doubt  appeared  in  the  sixteenth  century,  how 
difficult  it  was  for  the  sceptic  at  that  time  to  justify  himself 
even  to  his  own  intellect  and  conscience;  we  unjustly  doubt  the 
sincerity  of  Raleigh  and  Bacon,  when  they  speak  as  devout  Christians. 
Nevertheless  we  must  assume  the  existence  of  a large  class  who  were 


-„  .■  - f^rMU  •"  ^'i''  ^> 

V Mr  ).?*■'■  ■■  ' '-  #”fiiP  ‘1^" 


ii 


¥V/'  ■ 


„ , : ..,j;  . ■■»'>';'  ■'  . 

s.-ff ,,  : : ■ , ' ’ .;  h-i^  «£■ 


■■  ) 


f^;' '"wot'  s't  Jl;^ 

,'5-.-!*'»t^v.  xi  6r-f»6.  ■' J 


V 'xiC^WK*!^  1.01  '. 

, , V • . ■» 


i\uiy 


|i  ' ;•  ■.•  eri^'  ?s^iu.c«b 

..  ijj' 


..^  ^r.^,  J>  ^ ■••:  ..  . ^4:. 


iHv  Ip  ^ ^ f-  ' 'V  • «i  I ' /'  "^  ?j  **'  / ^^Lif  * *A  * ' *•■ 

'''■•■  V ' 4 4 ■44,-’ , ■ ^ ■ : r ••■  ivM 

*'.  ■ Jk._. iV. .*>, .V4'- ‘■^,.'>j|-  .‘‘^■■'f  ■?(.  .r A.  r,  1 . j<  c»  "j^  'MBit.,  -i  i>-  tW 


Kira- 


.■  ij 


65 


never  led  back  into  the  straight  path  by  fear,  who  secretly  held 
and  propagated  dangerous  notions,  without  incurring  even  any  sus- 
picion of  heresy.  And  this  class  must  have  gro-mi  constantly  larger 
and  larger,  until  towards  the  end  of  the  century  the  critical  and 
sceptical  spirit  became  general,  especially  among  Englishmen 
educated  abroad.  The  evidence,  however,  is  not  continuous;  and 
sometimes  it  gives  little  more  than  vague  hints.  Yet  from  it  we 
must  construct  our  conception  of  a continuous  sceptical  development 
in  the  England  of  the  Renaissance. 

This  evidence  is  also  unreliable.  No  books  on  atheism  by 
atheists  could  appear  in  sixteenth  century  England.  Our  information 
on  such  matters  comes  chiefly  from  the  accusers,  and  an  accusation 
of  atheism  in  that  day  was  no  dispassionate,  well-considered 
intellectual  judgment;  it  was  an  insult,  a whip-lash,  a threat  of 
horrible  death.  The  term  "atheist"  had  therefore  very  definite 
connotation  to  an  Elizabethan,  but  its  definition  remained  vague. 

It  might  mean  "Papist"  or  "Italian";  it  might  mean  "anti-Trinitar- 
ian"; it  might  mean  merely  a dabbler  in  natural  science.  And  when- 
ever it  appears  we  have  to  decide  for  ourselves  as  precisely  as  we 
can,  what  ideas  must  have  provoked  this  severe  moral  condemnation. 
Atheists,  in  the  modern  sense  of  the  word,  probably  did  not  exist 
in  the  sixteenth  century. 

However,  keeping  these  difficulties  in  mind,  and  remember- 
ing also  that  the  general  intellectual  forces  of  the  age  were  much 
the  same  in  England  as  on  the  Continent,  it  should  be  possible  to 
discover  the  significance  of  the  few  bits  of  evidence  we  have  and 
relate  them  to  the  development  of  European  thought.  Shall  we  feel 
justified  in  assuming  from  them  a continuous,  though  largely  hidden 

I 


f'  - 


3f  l^'r^ 

i ’►.  '^..*  •.  ' i\  ■'»■■  *A.  if  ♦ f ^rii' - ••  ' ' 4 s-  . • i '.  r^ V^' 


\^: 


RjiStaNti)!  tr^.  ' 


\fUiL 


Ir^: 


■*  iCN-yj^fciBWtfaK  r-jt 


rirssvvi 


66 


development?  It  is  the  purpose  of  this  chapter  to  present 
this  fragmentary  evidence  and  see  what  conclusions  can  be  drai-m 
from  it  regarding  the  intellectual  milieu  of  the  English  men  of 
letters  of  the  sixteenth  century.^ 


Individualism  in  the  English  Reformation 

The  moral  and  intellectual  aspects  of  the  Reformation,  it 
has  often  been  remarked,  are  naturally  congenial  to  the  wholesome- 
ness and  independence  of  the  British  character.  We  expect,  there- 
fore, to  find  in  England  before  the  Reformation  some  indications 
of  these  national  traits.  And  historians  have  pointed  out,  as  was 
noted  in  the  previous  chapter,  that  Duns  Scotus,  Roger  Bacon  and 
William  of  Occam,  all  three  of  them  great  critics  of  the  reigning 
Thomistio  tradition  in  theology  and  philosophy,  and  the  last  named 
an  influential  critic  of  the  pretensions  of  the  pope  to  temporal 
power,  were  all  natives  of  Britain.  In  the  Lollardy  of  the  four- 
teenth century,  in  the  personality  and  writings  of  Wycliffe,  in  the 
^ Plowman,  the  English  character  applied  its  moral 


No  consecutive  account  has  hitherto  been  attempted  of  the  scep- 

England  during  this  period.  Therefore,  although 
®^^o?^^^iscussions  by  Einstein,  The  Italian  Renaissance  in  Englarr, 

DD.lFiR— 17R  ja-nrl  4.1^^  n t 4-  ^ ^ m ~ — tt- — — — =r-  - — ' 


VNVN  Tccr  n r-  ^ 111  ^ J-xxo  y w XIX,  ^ V_  Q.X  X cHI  nc  IlcLX  o qd^IICc  XU  XJU^xSlIi 

291-307,  on  the  "Italian  danger"  and  Machiavellianism 
and  by  Feuillerat  Jphn  Lyly.  pp.50-ff.,  on  the  Italian  influence, as 
well  as  uhe  important  researches  of  Boas  on  Marlowe,  Kyd,  and 
Raleigh,  have  furnished  valuable  information  as  well  as  points  of 
departure  in  my  search  for  material,  the  collection  and  arrangement 
Of  material  for  the  purposes  of  this  chapter  was  largely  pioneer 
work.  Where  the  field  of  possible  sources  is  so  extensive  and  so 
little  explored  with  this  specific  aim,  there  is  probably  much  more 
material  to  be  found,  but  I feel  that  it  would  not  alter  the  main 

sketch.  My  specific  obligations  are  indicated  in  my 


& J '.'  “ ' / '"  ■ . w ' .;"*  '‘ ''"IB',  ''‘^^^■jj 


,d  ^ . • ; , ^ i'i/  '■■■  ■ ■'  ■ ■ ' ’ ' ’’ 


fciV#''.-  ',  ’ '',  ■ ■ ' . ■'  ,'<i  '■’' - i'"»  ' 


'.  :ji  L .■.i,*rt,-,-'..-„^o*%.^  a«»  >/•;  i!.y*mT3  »!►* 


7W  W.-r.-  : ' . 

iCVt  « lMl>>f  17  ' 


- ■ r-  ■ ,'r  >' 


ITjl 

bent  to  a renovation  of  the  ethical  and  religious  life  of  the 
nation,  and  created  a popular  tradition  which  powerfully  influenced 
the  sixteenth  century.^ 

At  the  threshold  of  the  sixteenth  century  we  meet  again 
this  moral  and  religious  fervor  united  with  quite  unusual 
intellectual  independence  — even  audacity  — in  the  sroup  of 
humanists  gathered  about  John  Colet.  They  sought  a middle  path 
between  the  dangers  of  Renaissance  paganism  and  scholastic  aridity.^ 
Colet  had  been  in  Italy  and  seen  how  carefully  the  lamp  of  pagan 
philosophy  had  been  tended,  and  how  the  true  spirit  of  Christianity 
was  neglected  for  pagan  epicureanism.  Likewise  in  the  introduction 
to  his  edition  of  the  New  Testament  in  1516,  Erasmus  observed  that 
"Platonists,  Pythagoreans,  and  the  disciples  of  all  other 
philosophers,  are  well  instructed  and  ready  to  fight  for  their  sect. 
Why  do  not  the  Christians  with  yet  more  abundant  zeal  espouse  the 
cause  of  thei^  Master  and  Prince?  Shall  Christ  be  put  in  compari- 
son with  Zeno  and  Aristotle  — his  doctrines  with  their  insignifi- 
cant precepts?”^  But  these  men  believed  that  paganism  was  a natural 
reaction  to  scholasticism,  and  that  a complete  liberation  from 
scholastic  thought  and  method,  and  a renewal  of  patristic  and 
apostolic  Christianity,  was  the  wisest  attack  on  the  dangers  of  the 
Renaissance.^  In  this  spirit  Colet  gave  his  lectures  on  Romans  at 
Oxford  in  1496-7.  He  did  not  seek  a philosophical  system;  he 


T Lql lardy  a^  Reformation  in  England.  4 vols. 
London  (1908) . The  popularity  of  the  Vision  of  Piers  Plowman  was 
revived  by  the  Reformation  and  there  were  five  editions  of  it 
between  1550  and  1563.  See  Schelling,  Life  and  Writings  of  George 
Gascoigne.  Boston  (1893).  p.  78. 

p The  Oxford  Reformers.  Chap.  Ill,  iii.  Ed.  Everyman, 

^Seebohm,  Chapter  XI,  i.  p.  303.  ^Seebohm,  Chap. Ill,  iii. 


rejected  the  textarian  method  of  exposition  of  the  scholastics  and 
its  fourfold  interpretation  of  Scripture:  the  literal,  the 
allpgorical,  the  moral  and  the  anagogical;  he  rejected,  in  practice 
at  least,  even  the  theory  of  literal  inspiration.^  He  sought  to 
understand  Paul  and  the  Remans  as  characters  in  history,  to 
appreciate  the  human  element  in  the  epistle,-  in  short  to  study 
this  holy  text  as  a historical  document  and  then  base  on  this  study 
an  interpretation  of  its  religious  teaching.^  Colet  J7as  inspired  in 
his  work  by  a noble  religious  purpose;  but  his  method  of  interpreta- 
tion was  so  novel,  so  liberal  and  individualistic  in  spirit,  that  we 
are  not  surprised  that  the  theologians  of  the  medieval  school  tried 
to  prove  him  and  his  "New  Learning"  heretical.  For  though  both 
Colet  and  his  friends  remained  within  the  Catholic  Church,  they 
-..ormed  an  essential  part  of  the  Reformation  movement;  and  not 
infrequently,  as  in  Colet ‘s  theory  of  the  "accommodation"  of 
Scripture  to  the  apprehension  of  man, ^ or  in  lore’s  theory  of  toler- 
ance of  a multiplicity  of  sects, they  were  far  more  liberal  even 
than  the  Protestantism  of  the  sixteenth  century. 

These  Catholic  reformers  therefore  contributed  uninten- 
tionally, one  may  say  unwillingly,  to  the  future  Anglican  tradition. 
The  New  Learning  was  disseminated  for  political  purposes  by 
Henry  VIII,  and  was  turned  to  religious  uses  by  such  Protestant 
leaders  as  Tyndale.  As  a result,  a strong  Protestant  party  was  pro- 


^Seebohm,  Chap.  X,  iii.  pp. 195-6  and  Chap.  XI,  p.  308. 

H, , Dean  Colet  * s Lectures  on  the  Romans . L 


Lupton,  J.  H 


s Lectures  on  the  Romans . London (1873) . 
Erasmus's  philological  and  historical 


^fy. 


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l-n^V^?i:»w#vi  >i  tc-'rA  iM  ;>:«s.  ;^(  rs-  vr  . .;aiaH« 


'^:-  "’i  .,-  f^i  i'2'f- 


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r.  . , J> 


. • 'V-H 

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1 -•  ■■^v*J'.-isill'it*'.<A^'''#M«^'  !^''f-*J6‘'^ 

^ ;'k^v7  '^v:'**^'''  , /:'''siK:'^^i\7'->A,  V ''■’  ‘ ■’’ ' *-  j’ij*.  ’ v'WrfiJ 


' 'V-^''’"'  ’ ' \>  kV-  >)A  ' *' ’ ' 

i '""'fe^tL' 

' 'S.i  • . ■:'■  : J'.,ii  :._?;r.  '.  _^.  . 


„ . ■■  ' , >5/.  /'i-tef  : -*l, 

. ^;.’'TM'  '.' ' ij.r  *lv'..'/^^0.  '■'  ’^  -.’  k : -orn^,  :\,.^ 


duced,  which  was  powerful  enough  to  pass  through  the  Marian 
persecutions  and  dominate  the  really  national  religious  establish- 
ment formed  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 

At  Oxford,  however,  the  tradition  of  Colet  and  Erasmus,  as 
well  as  the  influence  of  Protestantism,  seems  to  have  broken  down 
almost  completely  under  Mary.  At  the  accession  of  Elizabeth  the 
professorships  were  held  by  Roman  Catholics  of  the  old  school  of 
theology,  haters  of  humanistic  enlightenment,  whose  private  morals 
seem  to  have  been  those  of  the  clericals  in  Boccaccio  and  Rabelais. 
Jewel,  writing  to  Bullinger  at  Zurich  in  1559,  said  that  at  Oxford 
"there  are  scarcely  two  individuals  who  think  with  us;  and  even 
they  are  so  dejected  and  broken  in  spirit,  that  they  can  do  nothing." 
Elizabeth  came  to  the  throne  when  Oxford,  as  all  England,  was  in 
that  deepest  darkness  which  precedes  dawn. 

But  when  Protestantism  came  into  power  in  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth,  both  of  its  chief  factions,  the  Puritans  as  well  as  the 
Anglicans,  carefully  repressed  all  extreme  phases  of  religious 
individualism.  Both  parties  equally  dreaded  a democratic  church 
government  as  unsafe  and  unsound.  The  ranks  were  drilled  into 
uniformity  in  these  churches  militant,  and  discipline  enforced  by  | 
an  official  hierarchy.  Consequently  individualism  sought  expression! 
in  the  last  two  or  three  decades  of  the  century  in  the  uprising  in 
various  parts  of  England  of  Separatist  movements,  with  which  Robert 
Browne  was  in  his  earlier  years  connected,  and  which  were  commonly 
called  Brownist  after  him.^  Out  of  these  Separatist  movements,  the 

^ ^Zurich  Letters,  ed.  Robinson,  H.  (Parker  Societv.  Vol.  43).  -n.33. 

Cf.  also  pp.  11,  12,  29,  55,  77.  ^ 

^^Dexter,^H.  M.,  Congregationalism  of  the  ^st  Three  Hundred 
i£a££U880)  . Burrage,  C.,  The  Tr^  Story  o£  Robert  Browne, j 


,.  -'  JP*  n.^ 

■^!  - ^^*\';vVfl*?n-rA^  ■ ’’" ''^oiS*  •' '»^^ 


'."‘ft* 


k^r  • iT^.V  ■ -ytt.  ’'  ’ "'  ‘ ' «jVa  : »- . k. 


m:4  ^ 


> -d iV-  V'E#  ,?»>  &4 ' '^' •■ ' !£' 


'»■ 

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^ ' .:  >' ■ i - >,'''•  r 

S ^mte-M-  MS  -jiUsa^'^^^gS  i0l2>'“.,->'  ^ •‘?':*iJ,i 


^md 


s fcjafi)  8' 

“T; a.  t |piii(iip^;<fw^-jw>»<^^^ 


70 


leaders  of  which  were  so  severely  persecuted,  grew  the  modern 
Baptist  and  Congregational  churches.^ 

Thus  persisted  and  triumphed  what  was  at  the  same  time  a 
national  trait  of  independence  and  the  Renaissance  spirit  of 
individualism;  manifested  continuously  from  the  Lollardy  of  the 
fourteenth  century  to  the  Protestant  Reformation  of  the  sixteenth; 
not  created  by  statesmen,  though  manipulated  by  Henry  VIII  and 
Elizabeth  to  serve  their  own  political  purposes;  remaining  throuarh- 
out  a popular  tradition,  though  it  pervaded  the  Humanism  of  the 
Oxford  Reformers  and  appropriated  the  New  Learning  as  its  O'wn 
instrument;  finally,  as  a protest  against  the  oligarchical  and 
hierarchical  principles  of  the  dominant  Protestantism,  establishing 
a democratic  ecclesiastical  organization  which  has  grown  into  two 
of  the  most  po7/erful  and  influential  religious  denominations  of 
modern  times.  In  England,  as  on  the  Continent  during  the 
Renaissance  and  Reformation,  the  principle  of  individualism  was 


coming  into  its  O'wn,  never  again  to  be  suppressed  by  authority. 


Browne  recanted  under  pressure.  Two  other  leaders.  Greenwood  and 

imprisoned  in  1586,  and  remained 
in  the  Fleet  from  1587  until  they  were  hanged  at  Tyburn  in  1593. 

others  were  imprisoned  in  the  later  years  of  Elizabeth 
Seppatist  opinions.  See  Selbie,  W.  B.,  English  Sects, 
onap.  III.  The  bad  odor  in  which  these  sectarians  were  at  that 
time  appears  from  the  collocation  of  names  in  the  following 
epitaph  written  for  Martin  Mar -Prelate: 

0!  VOS  Martinistae 
Et  VOS  Brounistae 
Et  Famililovistae, 

Et  Anabaptistae, 

Et  Omnes  sectistae 
Et  Machivelistae 
Et  Atheistae, 

Quorum  dux  fuit  iste 

4.V  . Lugete  singuli. 

and  Burial  of  Martin  Mar-Prelate.  Works  of  Nashe.  ed.Grosart, 


aL,  ..riiMmiiij^'^  «<W>  (yi  r^fWt 


# ' .-■*  •■• -.■wLVi  , . •<.  -v.:“  _ T.  ..  .-,™*  ' “ - 


■fii 


■•■'\  >■•  . ' - ■ ’■'  ' ^ 


V .W'* 


*IS 


i-w‘ 


it 


, ' I i'  *" 

:>a . f />  j-riT^s i ■* Jjc#Q  ,<vd r aa 


.'N,  “ . , - • 'lvv  i 


J> 


■ ^ . ' 


'k 


II 


7l1 

The  Indifference  of  Queen  Elizabeth 

n any  account  of  the  enlightenment  which  came  over 
England  in  the  sixteenth  century,  the  influence  of  Queen  Elizabeth 
must  find  some  place.  To  a remarkable  degree  she  impressed  her  per- 
sonality on  the  nation  she  ruled.  She  was  a truly  national  monarch; 
she  won  the  affection  of  all  her  subjects;  the  court  became  the 
center  of  the  national  life  as  it  had  never  been  before.  Her 
character  lay  open  to  all  the  world;  and  her  attitude  in  matters  of 
religion  cannot  have  been  without  profound  influence,  at  first 
chiefly  on  the  court,  but  through  the  court  on  the  educated  and 
enlightened  people  throughout  the  nation.  For,  though  the  Queen 
was  punctilious  in  her  observance  of  the  forms  of  religion,  her 
opinion  of  its  substance  must  have  been  apparent  to  many  of  her 
subjects  who  reflected  on  her  policies  in  ecclesiastical  matters. 

The  Queen  tried  to  form,  out  of  the  discordant  elements 
bequeathed  to  her  by  the  reigns  of  Henry  VIII,  Edward  VI  and  Mary, 
a truly  national  church.  Her  whole  effort  was  animated,  not  by  any 
moral,  religious  or  even  ecclesiastical  purpose,  but  by  a purely 
political  purpose  of  uniting  her  people.  She  faced  at  the  beginning 
of  her  reign  a problem  that  could  only  be  solved  by  Machiavellian 
statesmanship,  though  she  managed  to  have  her  conduct  attributed  to 
womanly  weakness  rather  than  to  unprincipled  politics.  She  flirted 
with  the  factions  on  the  Continent  which  regarded  England  only  as 
their  legitimate  prey;  equally  deftly  she  kept  up  the  hopes,  without 
committing  herself,  of  the  extreme  factions,  both  Protestant  and 
Catholic,  among  her  subjects.  And  the  foreign  suitors  who  were  kept 


. ,vr,  . - . ,_ 


■■"  ''.'''’I-.  **"  .;  ''7-'ss^T,® -■fi'ss 

' 'm;:-^  iMi;'.’.  -?  ' 'I: 

:<  V- .'  'f 

’~m^)i!*  ' Fil^  . '^'  '' ' , _ '.  i ' ...  ■ TiTrf»  : • lu  ..  r k.  I A 


iiJjtv  ,?'f  .'.«t*n''-i«--! 


I 


/ a 

P.A^ 


. .UqVtA  "tlfCW^  «»-%«> A(j 


ii 


k,  ‘m  ■ ..:^  : ■'  '^'-  ^ '::  A ...a.,,  <^fMUm 

:}.-i^-^ii-r\i 

f .•  * <^  •_  ■•  • ' .1  • ' .'I 


u.fAk* , 

i>  r*.  f )( >,, 


m,u  Wrf. 


1^ 

'1P<X'  v>fc 

Ir-'ia'aii;  1,ov^  ...r-..^^  ^ '.,  ,»w  ,,.  :",^.-,,;,yj  .'-•  .,,  ,,,...^  J 


||P|l|i^  V V »* ^ '•■  ’•  •^/=‘Tj7'._. ;.i-  • 


dangling  so  long  were  driven  to  no  greater  desperation  than  the 
Queen's  conscientious  bishops,  who  whenever  they  sought  to  do  their 
duty  towards  church  and  state  by  harassing  the  non-conformists, 
found  their  zeal  checked  by  the  Queen. 

"This  Machiavel  government,"  wrote  Parker  to 
Burghley  himself,  in  1572,  "is  strange  to  me,  for 
it  bringeth  forth  strange  fruits.  As  soon  is  the 
papist  favoured  as  is  the  true  Protestant.  And  yet 
forsooth  my  levity  doth  mar  all.  When  the  true 
subject  is  not  regarded  but  overthwarted,  when  the 
^ebel  is  borne  with,  a good  commonwealth,  scilicet. 

When  the  faithful  subject  and  officer  hath  spent 
his  wit  to  search,  to  find,  to  indict,  to  arraign, 
and  to  condemn,  yet  must  they  be  kept  still  for  a’ 
fair  day  to  cut  our  ovm  throats."! 

In  Burleigh  the  Queen  found  a minister  who,  though  he  had  a leaning 

towards  the  Puritan  party,  was  as  ready  as  herself  to  seek  a purely 

political  settlement  of  the  religious  difficulties  of  the  time. 

Burleigh  showed  a ready  talent  for  accommodation  to  changes  in 

power  or  in  opinion.  As  Lloyd  said  of  him:  "He  saw  the  interest 

of  the  state  changed  six  times,  and  died  an  honest  man:  the  crown 

put  upon  four  heads,  yet  he  continued  a faithful  subject:  religion 

changed,  as  to  the  public  constitution  of  it,  five  times,  yet  he 

kept  the  faith. 

This  purely  political  spirit  in  which  the  Queen  and  her 
minister  dealt  with  religious  problems,  led  both  to  espouse  the 
principle  of  toleration.  The  Queen,  in  her  reply  to  the  Papal 
Bull  of  Excommunication  of  1570,  declared  that 

"Her  majesty  would  have  all  her  loving  subjects  to 
understand,  that,  as  long  as  they  shall  openly  con- 
tinue in  the  observation  of  her  laws,  and  shall  not 


Parker  Correspondence.  (Parker  Society)  No.  ccxcvii,  p.  391. 

Cf.  also  No.  cccxvi,  p.  414. 

Nares,  Burghley.  Ill,  326.  Quoted  in  Klein,  A.J.,  Intolerance  in 
th^  Reign  Elizabeth,  Boston  (1917).  p.  13. 


-*:•  ,.  ' ‘ *.■/'»'  -•  ''v  ,,  , ' M ,,  ■ . .'  ,’<■('  .5^  . .;lSf_^.;-  ' ^ „ ' »i- ■ ii- ' ) ' k.'ii\4.\.l'W^.-.  .^<-4  rlvm 


J -■ 


'"Ik’  ■ ' ■■  ' ' ' V "'  '•  , '■  '*"®'  ' .fill  ' 


H- 


t?.  ^ 


'if  ' •:  ^ "’^■' 


pi: 


!,iW-«"  5aa-  vx^si^:  l£Mb  •■fiit-  ,.34  jufe;  t«  iAAW  ^.^■t»^. Ss^'J.W? 
J,  ,t^e  tU(f>> : 17a  ## 

;=>V>:.  ■ "•>  'V  i a'  ^ ' • f ,, 

'i'7 : ■'■  •^■.iMii ' '-  ■ “'  " . f . 'i  -f"  ■ l> 


■,',^ily;  ‘-  V 'T-l 


At.'*'.!"'  . UV.l 


^ ■•’  l'.'\;  '-t.  ^Vl  ,'.:.tf!’*'^ 


73 


wilfully  and  manifestly  break  them  by  their  open 
actions,  her  majesty's  means  is  not  to  have  any 
of  them  molested  by  any  inquisition  or  examina- 
tion of  their  consciences  in  causes  of  religion; 
but  to  accept  and  entreat  them  as  her  good  and 
obedient  subjects.  She  meaneth  not  to  enter  into 
the  inquisition  of  any  men's  consciences  as  long 
as  they  shall  observe  her  laws  in  their  open  deeds. 

And  in  1583  Burleigh  suggested  a revision  of  the  oath  of  supremacy 

for  the  benefit  of  Catholics,  so  that  it  could  not  be  construed  to 

involve  anything  but  patriotic  rallying  to  the  support  of  the  Queen 

in  time  of  national  danger;  for,  he  said,  "of  this  commodity  will 

ensue  that  . . . such  priests  as  would  refuse  that  oath,  then  no 

tongue  could  say,  for  shame,  that  they  suffer  for  religion,  if  they 

did  suffer."^ 

Elizabeth  and  her  great  minister,  we  feel,  must  have 
understood,  better  than  most,  the  rational  and  enlightening 
tendencies  which  emerged  during  the  sixteenth  century  and  distin- 
guish its  end  from  its  beginning,  and  which  became  so  pervasive 
under  the  first  Stuarts.  Though  the  Queen  loved  Catholic  pomp  and 
ceremony,  she  was  intellectually  nearer  Deism;  during  her  reign  her 
favorite,  Raleigh,  reputed  an  atheist,  was  safe  from  persecution. 
Her  tolerance  was  due  not  only  to  political  reasons,  but  as  well 
to  her  personal  indifference  in  religious  questions.  And  her 
example  was  no  doubt  as  effective,  though  in  a more  subtle  manner, 
among  the  educated  men  of  England,  as  the  dramatic  "political"  con- 
version and  subsequent  religious  indifference  of  Henry  IV  was  among 
the  French.  Froude  has  admirably  described  the  sceptical  tendency 

gKlein,  op.  cit.,  pp.  57-8. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  Somers  Tracts.  13  vols.  London  (1809).  1,165. 
Quoted  by  Klein,  op.  cit.,  p.  61. 

On  the  stimulus  to  Libertinism  by  the  example  of  Henry  IV  see 
Perrens,  F.T.,  Les  Libertins  en  France.  Paris  (1899).  pp.  59-ff. 


74 


evident  in  both  these  monarchs;  both  Elizabeth  and  Henry,  he  says, 

’’held  at  the  bottom  intrinsically  the  same  views. 

They  believed  generally  in  certain  elementary  truths 
lying  at  the  base  of  all  religions;  and  the  difference 
in  the  outward  expressions  of  those  truths,  and  the 
passionate  animosities  which  those  differences 
engendred,  were  only  not  contemptible  to  them  from 
the  practical  mischief  which  they  produced. 

Neither  of  the  two  sovereigns  shared  the  pro-^ound 
horror  of  falsehood,  which  was  at  the  heart  of  the 
Protestant  movement.  They  had  the  statesman's 
temperament,  to  which  all  specific  religions  are 
equally  fictions  of  the  imagination."  ^ 

Of  course  this  religious  indi"^f erence  of  the  Queen  is  more 
obvious  to  the  modern  student  in  his  library  than  to  the 
Elizabethan  country  squire,  for  instance.  Yet  it  is  hard  to  believe 
that  about  the  Court  and  London,  where  gossip  spread  quickly  and  the 
Queen’s  sacred  reputation  was  not  always  spared,  no  one  but 
Archbishop  Parker  should  ever  have  whispered  the  word  " Machiavellian!’ 
in  connection  with  the  Queen  and  Burghley.  We  can  hardly  exneot 
documents  to  prove  the  case  directly;  he  would  have  been  a rash 
letter-writer  or  printer  who  risked  his  right  hand  or  his  life  by 


breathing  any  suspicion  against  the  Queen.  But  Elizabeth  was  a 
true  daughter  of  the  Renaissance,  and  the  spirit  of  the  Renaissance, 
with  its  paganism  and  religious  indifference,  was  permitted  at  her 
Court.  The  century  which  had  begun  with  Colet  and  More  and  their 
Christian  Humanism,  closed  with  Marlowe  and  the  young  Donne,  with 
Raleigh  and  Shakespeare. 


1_ 

Froude,  History  of  England.  N.  Y.  (1870).  XII,  569-570.  Cf.  Green: 
^0  woman  ever  lived  who  was  so  totally  destitute  of  the  sentiment 
of  religion."  Short  History.  Chap.  VII,  3. 


> 


Ill 


Heresy  as  a Crime 

Before  leaving  ecclesiastical  history,  we  must  look  more 
closely  at  a significant  aspect  of  it,  the  persecutions  for  heresy. 
A narrative  of  these  persecutions  will  not  only  throw  light  on  the 
history  of  toleration,  but  it  will  explain  the  dangers  attending  a 
liberal  culture  in  the  sixteenth  century;  it  will  throw  into  relief 
the  heroism  of  many  of  the  sincere  and  fearless  thinkers  of  the 
Renaissance  and  Reformation.  A study  of  the  penal  statutes  will 
help  us  to  understand  the  incidents  discussed  later,  in  the  lives 
of  Kyd,  Marlowe  and  Raleigh. 


In  the  earlier  Middle  Ages  there  were  no  statutes  in 


England  making  heresy  a penal  offense.  But  in  the  bitter  conflict 
with  the  Lollards  three  statutes  were  placed  on  the  statute-book 
and  remained  the  authority  for  the  persecutions  up  to  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth.  The  first  of  these,  in  1382,  merely  gave  the  civil 
authorities  the  right  to  hold  heretics  in  prison  until  they  satis- 
fied the  claims  of  the  church.  But  on  March  10,  1401,  Parliament 


passed  an  act  declaring  that  such  heretics  as  did  not  recant  should 
be  publicly  burned.  In  1414  another  act  provided  that  trials  for 
heresy  should  be  held  in  a bishop's  court. ^ The  burnings  had 
already  begun  a week  before  the  act  of  1401,  for  on  March  2 a 
William  Sawtre  was  publicly  burned  by  order  of  a writ  6^  haeretico 
cpmburendo  issued  by  the  king  on  February  26.  This  illegal  incident 


Stubbs,  Constitutional  History.  Oxford  (1880).  Chap.  XIX,  sec.  404 
381-395.  Stephen,  Sir  James  F.,  A History  of  the  Criminal  Law 
OX  Enfgland.  3 vols.  London(l883)  . II,  437-469.  " 


’17  m 


T,  ■ \ •T'-t  tr 

L>.i 


4;  ’ "*■. 


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. *V* 


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H||^<iv.:'>  ' .iTi  ■ r, , , 1 ,■  ."  •)  j*  ■■  ■’ . '£  «•  /T'^k’  ,M  Spjr” \/!4*'. . -V 

K'irivr= 


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KF®--.: 


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„%''-.''.u  •■'■•  ' .■.;•?•  V' ■.' v:  " ; 1..  ..  ^„^*■*  „.J 


|^l> .'  , )nix^-%|<;.c  yti^as)  J 

PV.^:,Xi2'l&i';3.-.£5Si  "*»  Vjii’ilia  .-i  u«lSiii^-  ?X! ' .0»('.3^6  ,,fl*?<-ra«  -lilW 
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PSa^=u-..'  '•  ■ ■ ■ . ' „ ,.,  •'  e.'.'c  - tf-v,  -.ff.il  ^ J 

v!  ^ rii'iiiiiiiMing  itiitiaiilgT^tttTflTlnWM^ 


76 


seems  to  have  given  rise  to  the  notion  that  the  king  by  common  law 
could  issue  such  a writ. 

As  the  statutes  did  not  define  heresy,  there  were  a laree 
number  of  burnings  for  all  sorts  of  variations  from  orthodoxy 
throughout  the  fifteenth  century  and  the  reigns  of  Henry  VII  and 
Henry  VIII.  The  bishop’s  courts  had  broad  precedents,  and  the 
accused  no  real  legal  basis  for  a defense.  But  the  statutes  were 
originally  intended  and  chiefly  applied  against  the  Lollards  and 
such  later  sects,  as  the  Anabaptists,  which  resembled  them. 

Henry  VIII, as  we  have  seen,  encouraged  for  his  own  pur- 
poses the  spread  of  mild  heresy  in  England,  and  in  1534  the  heresy 
act  of  1401  was  annulled;  in  1547  all  other  heresy  acts  on  the 
books  were  repealed.  The  results  were  immediately  somewhat  more 
than  the  king  and  his  advisers  had  looked  for.  Conservative 
Protestants  were  frightened  by  the  revelation  of  what  real  freedom 
of  opinion,  real  individualism  in  religion,  so  quickly  led  to. 

”How  dangerously,”  Hooper  wrote  to  Bullinger  in 
1549,  "England  is  afflicted  with  heresies,  God  only 
knows.  There  are  some  who  say  the  soul  of  man  is 
no  better  than  the  soul  of  a beast,  and  is  mortal 
and  perishable.  There  are  wretches  who  dare,  in 
their  conventicles,  not  only  to  deny  that  Christ 
is  our  Saviour,  but  to  call  that  blessed  Child  a 
mischief-maker  and  a deceiver.  A great  part  of 
the  country  is  Popish,  and  sets  at  nought  God  and 
the  magistrates."! 

Hooper  had  reason  to  complain;  for  he  alludes  in  another  letter  to  I 

I 

dated  June  25,  1549,  to  some  of  his  own  personal 
difficulties  as  he  read  public  lectures  twice  a day  in  St,  Pauls 
to  a crowded  church.  "The  Anabaptists,"  he  says,  "flock  to  the 

^Quoted  by  Froude,  History  of  England,  N.  Y.  (1867) . V,  159. 


77 


place,  and  give  me  much  trouble  with  their  opinions  respecting  the 
incarnation  of  the  Lord. 

In  this  flowering  period  of  heresy,  it  is  especially 
important  to  note  the  rapid  and  universal  spread,  or  perhaps  the 
spontaneous  rise,  of  a denial  of  the  divinity  of  Christ,  the  old 
heresy  of  the  Arians.  We  have  a full  account  of  such  tenets  in  a 
letter  from  Martin  Micronius  to  Henry  Bullinger,  August  14,  1551: 

”We,  who  are  desirous  to  hand  down  to  the  churches 
the  sincere  doctrine  of  God,  are  attacked  on  every 
side.  We  have  not  only  to  contend  with  the  papists 
who  are  almost  every  where  ashamed  of  their  errors  ’ 
but  much  more  with  the  sectaries  and  Epicureans  and 
pseudo-evangelicals.  In  addition  to  the  ancient 
errors  respecting  paedobaptism,  the  incarnation  of 
Christ,  the  authority  of  the  magistrate,  the  (lawful- 
oath,  the  property  and  community  of  goods , 
and  the  like, new  ones  are  rising  up  every  day,  with 
which  we  have  to  oontend.  The  chief  opponents,  how- 
ever, of  Christ's  divinity  are  the  Arians,  who  are 
now  beginning  to  shake  our  churches  with  greater 
violence  than  ever,  as  they  deny  the  conception  of 
Christ  by  the  Virgin.  Their  principal  arguments  may 
be  reduced  under  three  heads:  The  first  is  respecting 

the  unity  of  God,  as  declared  throughout  the  scriptures 
both  of  the  old  and  new  Testament;  and  that  the  doctrine 
as  well  as  the  name  of  the  Trinity  is  a novel  invention 
as  not  being  mentioned  in  any  part  of  scripture.  Their" 
next  argument  is  this:  the  scripture,  they  say,  which 
every  where  acknowledges  one  God,  admits  and  professes 
that  this  one  God  is  the  Father  alone,  (Joh. xvii . 3 . ) 
who  is  also  called  one  God  by  Paul  (l. Cor . viii. S. ) . 

Lastly,  they  so  pervert  the  passages  which  seem  to* 
establish  the  divinity  of  Christ,  as  to  say  that  none 
of  them  refer  intrinsically  to  Christ  himself,  but 
that  he  has  received  all  from  another,  namely,  from 
the  Father;  (Joh. v. Matt . xxviii . ) and  they  say  that 
God  cannot  receive  from  God;  and  that  Christ  was  only 
in  this  respect  superior  to  any  of  m.ankind,  that  he 
received  more  gifts  from  God  the  Father. 


,,  Qrig:inal  Le-^rs  ^lative  ^ Eng^lish  Reformation. ed. Robinson. 

H.,  Cambridge  (1847)T  I,  65.  ^ * 

3 

Original  Letters,  ed.  cit.  II,  574. 


.,  tv  »J'*  ^ ■*  ■ " 5E 

;S'  ‘•'.mf'jm  'V*  ■'( 


:■'  ■ ■ ■-»'  fr,  , ''f  ' tv  * ■■  i’  i.\ 

i4)-  njvfSs«eji‘K‘/ija.;i?^S('S-'  : 

■ ;''■  ■'  Z;  ilW 


•S 


W: 


<g- 


•*'.  ‘ *.  Ti-‘  ^ . .’a.  _ ^,  _ _ -..  ^ A kJ.  ^ 


, . ,, , ' -t*  ,,C5a(«J;V"ffi^‘'?5»B 

-*«■;;'  -'JJ-  .y  ' ■ 

j I- a-t «S;4,a^ 


t ‘ I * .h*  *-■'  ',  - , 4^*^* 


I “^  • 4 ■ 

. .^4  . 

.,  "i  y<^  ( . ; 


„ rjy:  ''  --II; 

*.  V ’ ,f  „ ' ’'I.‘:>*ri’j« 


■ .'«*^* 


..iti,e«-'’-*i 


Y >. 


„ ■ "y’J 


/f 


.A' 


•iz\J  zCU 


78 


In  spi't6  of  th.0S8  dangerous  "tendencies,  freedom  was 
maintained  until  the  end  of  the  reign  of  Edward  VI.  But  in  the 
first  year  of  Mary's  reign,  1555,  the  three  acts  against  heresy 
were  revived  and  enforced  not  only  against  Arians  but  all 
Protestants  as  well.  As  the  Heresy  Acts  had  not  defined  heresy, 
what  proportion  of  the  heretics  burned  in  the  reign  of  Mary  were 
merely  Protestants  can  only  be  guessed.^  To  the  Catholics  they  were 
of  course  all  heretics.  And  that  there  was  some  sort  of  affinity 
between  the  English  Protestants  of  the  Puritan  wing,  and  the 
Lollards,  the  Anabaptists  and  the  Arians,  is  apparent  in  that  all 
these  parties  flourished  in  the  same  section  of  England,  the  eastern 
counties  and  London.  Kent  and  Essex,  wrote  the  Protestant  Bishop 
Hooper  in  1550,  "is  troubled  with  the  frenzy  of  the  anabaptists 
more  than  any  other  part  of  the  kingdom."^ 


In  1556  three  Arians  from  three  different  parishes  in  Eastern 
England  confessed  upon  trial  to  practically  identical  tenets:  they 
Objected  to  the  service  in  Latin,  as  unedifying;  they  denied  the 

Christ's  body  and  the  Trinity,  and  two  of  them 
aaaed  that  it  was  wrong  to  put  a man  to  death  for  the  sake  of  con- 
science. Like  most  of  the  heretics  arraigned,  they  seem  to  have 
abjured  their  heresies.  See  Strype  Memorials.  London  (1731).  Ill 
^03.  On  the  same  page  Strype  records  that  at  Frankfort  a Dr. 
bartholomew  Traherne  lectured  on  the  Gospel  of  St.  John,  "designedly 
against  the  Arians.  who  began  much  to  encrease  in  this  times 
^.especially  among  Protestants)  ..." 

According  to  Strype,  288  were  burned  in  those  four  years. 
M|morials,  ed.  cit.  Ill,  Catalogue  of  Originals,  pp.  291-3. 

t e r 8 , ed.  cit.  I,  87.  Of  course  the  coast  towns  were 
most  likely  to  come  in  contact  with  new  opinions  from  abroad.  The 
tlmulus  of  commerce  upon  liberal  thought  appears  in  the  freedom 
01  opinion  allowed  in  Venice  and  the  Netherlands,  the  two  great 
commercial  nations  of  the  time.  On  the  role  of  the  merchant  in  the 
T Reformation,  see  Gairdner,  Lollardv  and  the  Reformation. 

J.,  009.  Jewel  mentions  in  a letter  dated  1560,  that  in  the  French 
enurch  in  London  "there  are  some  unquiet  and  turbulent  men,  who  are 
openly  beginning  to  profess  Arianism."  Zurich  Letters,  p.  93. 


^t.  ^.#4:'  -':^j' ...  ^..■:r:L''^.^^.^ 


,''«'JflW 


t^V 


jJ*  <>'  • 


, - ■ 'i'«r'\i 

:'(fd.>3rt.-ji  ' 1 h'iA 

-Cl:-  ■ ^_  ■ 1.  - '%.v.  ' r^"’S'  \j(i 

rS'Kv'  -'  •.'•  . 1.  " ■ „ ..  > .;  ',.  . •/  ■ >v-.  :;'.t^.'  ■ >:  ■•  ..r  M 


■^^^‘1'  1^' 


;^^'’?:tws’||^«c*>tj«o,  I4/ ■'.S¥  " fit-iM/Mg'' -«i 'X;-i^'^ 

«'i'i^-»!jifi  '^“'••^*7  '^'’'V: 

J V-” ■fiilisr'i II«.  ' -I  » . ’.-6iK' •^'  ■*“ ^ ’ V 

‘T?  ».«<i?.  • ‘iLt^.^'Ji$t^  i r^p  ^ni.J5  4?i&-  ,ir£ 

' . 'V-y  ■ . ■ '^ 

..  V / "'  ' ' . < • ^ /'  ' .' - ' 

;,:.  :''-^.i'^'.'  ' ' ' ' - '■'•  #\*  ■■ 


W’--: 


i-  ;^V  '■  , > ■ - I -y  ... 

'jkk^)t.  ‘taS  wi'iwio  ti'; . 'i^B  .'['  ■^  i^'ln . ■ litahlltitQ:. 


O 


79 

In  1558,  on  the  accession  of  Q.ueen  Elizabeth,  the  heresy 
acts  revived  under  Mary  were  formally  repealed.  But  a curious  sub- 
stitution was  made  in  the  provision  for  a Court  of  High  Commission 
to  try  ecclesiastical  offenses.  At  the  same  time  heresy  was  defined 
as  that  which  was  so  adjudged  ”by  the  authority  of  the  canonical 
scriptures,  or  by  the  first  four  general  councils."  This  definition 
exempted  all  differences  in  the  Protestant-Catholic  controversy, but 
not  the  despised  Anabaptists  and  Arians.  The  statute  provided  no 
penalty  apparently  on  the  assumption  that  the  royal  writ  de 
haeretico  comburendo  was  common  law.  In  the  whole  reign  of 
Elizabeth  this  law  resulted  in  only  six  executions.^  There  were  no 
doubt  many  more  recantations  than  executions.  But  in  1575  five 
Dutch  Anabaptists  were  indicted,  two  of  whom,  John  Wielmacker  and 
Hendrick  Ter  Woort,  were  burned  at  Smithfield  on  July  32.^  Four 
Arians  were  burned  at  various  times  at  Norwich.  Matthew  Hamont,  a 
ploughwright,  who  was  a "coarse  kind  of  deist,  holding  the  Gospel 
to  be  a fable,  Christ  a sinner,  and  the  Holy  Ghost  a nonentity,"  was 
burned  May  30,  1579.  An  obscure  John  Lewes  was  burned  on 
September  18,  1583.  And  Peter  Cole,  a tanner,  met  the  same  fate  in 

1587.  More  celebrated  is  the  case  of  Francis  Kett,  a Cambridge 

Master  of  Arts,  who  was  condemned  by  Bishop  Scambler  of  Norwich  in 

1588. 

The  last  execution  for  heresy  in  England  was  in  1612, when 
James  I ordered  two  Arians,  Legate  and  Wightman,  to  be  burned.  Coke 

^Stephen,  Hi3_tory  of  Criminal  Law.  II,  463,  says  only  two, 
iting  Hale  and  Froude  as  his  authorities.  They  all  overlooked  the 
orwich  executions. 

'^Strype,  Annals.  London  (1725).  II,  380. 

^Dictionary  of  National  Biography.  ¥III,  1137, 


IW-  ‘ ''V-:’'WT\'3.!." 

if 'vtlflf  ,l4i--a%!tXn'  T ■>-•.>  in*  «0iS<<4lfN 

tr:v'<.^  .1*  , , ' ./''Wrf  , f t \TP**  f'*' '** 


HK  ***^ 

*.  ' ■'':*  o'  ’ 

...  ‘’.‘fltO'  <i®i.fe‘r"'’fi'r,. 


fe- 


I •'  «-■  -%(i^  V » -4q"*  V*  M .’Ip?'  ■ ’«-^ 


- ' .-  . . V ' 

' - • "'*  '•  ?‘  ' -ft  ■''  ' 

^•C  , ..y  ’ .,/  ■ - ■ , ,_  ,r  i,  - 


'^W*  * ' '.  ^ ;-t  ' l-TiJ"'  Tryfc  Ifc  i.  ii  *- 


- „ , » M 

j ^ L I 1 1/  %i>f»'-  r >t  * Wr  Jf  HAi  rr- 


'i.' 


raised  objections  to  the  legality  of  the  process,  denying  that  the 
writ  ^ haeretico  comburnedo  was  common  law.  But  James,  for 
political  reasons,  insisted  that  the  executions  should  take  place. 
In  1618,  however,  a Portuguese  ex-monk  condemned  to  be  burned,  was 
reprieved  by  the  king,  and  since  then  no  conviction  for  heresy  has 
ever  been  obtained.^  In  1677  all  acts  making  heresy  a crime,  and 
authorising  punishment  by  death  in  ecclesiastical  matters,  were 
formally  repealed. 

Although  the  law  remained  on  the  statute  book  so  long, 
the  real  progress  in  tolerance,  it  is  clear  from  the  above  account, 
was  made  in  the  sixteenth  century.  In  comparison  with  the  reign 
of  Henry  VII  and  the  first  part  of  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII,  the  age 
of  Elizabeth  is  remarkable  for  its  freedom  of  thought  and  speech 
and  its  neglect  of  the  Christian  duty  of  prosecuting  heresy.  We 
must  credit  some  of  this  progress  to  the  Queen  and  her  advisers,  and 
some  to  the  general  movement  of  thought  in  Europe.  But  the  world 


owes  a debt  to  those  obscure  and  despised,  but  unyielding. 
Anabaptists  and  Arians  who  were  tortured  to  death  under  the  pro- 
vision of  the  act  of  1401.  Froude,  speaking  of  the  execution  of 
twelve  Dutch  Anabaptists  in  1535,  has  commemorated  them  all  and 
given  them  their  place  in  history;  of  these  executions  , he  says, 

"the  details  are  gone, — the  names  are  gone.  Poor 
Hollanders  they  were,  and  that  is  all.  Scarcely  the 
fact  seemed  worth  the  mention,  so  shortly  it  is  told 
in  a passing  paragraph.  For  them  no  Europe  was 
agitated,  no  courts  were  ordered  into  mourning,  no 
papal  hearts  trembled  with  indignation.  At  their 
deaths  the  world  looked  on  complacent,  indifferent 
or  exulting.  Yet  here,  too,  out  of  twenty— five 
common  men  and  women  were  found  fourteen  who,  by 
no  terror  of  stake  or  torture,  could  be  tempted 
to  say  that  they  believed  what  they  did  not  believe. 

TP -History  of  the  E^nglish  Church  in  the  Reigns  of 
ilajaai.  L7  EohdoiT  ( 1§U4) . pp737o‘~ff'. 


■'  " 


ipEfj'>r,t^a6fc  ,■:;m■^v:'.6V'^p»:l»l«i^^^ 


■y  » ,r.  • ' •*  rt  i-  trjiU 

jf  •^"■•i^^Pp^r,*'  ' 1 ’’  ’r 


. H , 


' »-Tt  « •'^ 


ricTi  t<'-. . ■•  . ;:•“  ^ 

teiwfl"  lt^u‘i44-  -s't'  5ijs»>rlg^."  Itc'f  >:aoj^xt  «.‘  it  a?  W4'v;,ax®i  % 

'•■'  ■ * ‘'  ;‘*l  ■ .’s  . -»’’^''»^!5L'' 'Si'  ■' 


'■^f^v''  ■ I ■■.■••  ''‘'  sJ;y-r'  ■ :■!.  .M/- J\  ' 


* Yky.i  ^ . ''"’  ' ••■'' ’'i'  ' \ . .. " : *'  ■‘•I  *,.43fc« 1 


.<■;■  tt'.-*<  ' ; :(M\^i  7m  •-  ‘L  i---'  ■ ; '^*'  -'■ti.. . -• 

Jf'  ,■..,  ,:  -‘S  s^'  i-flfe  ^ • S^hl'.l 

i^tifis  wii’ -•■’).■  S^'  *"0it5  *.j4-?ia  ?i-  jW"  •**^*^^ 

- ’r  ''•"'  ‘'*  •^'  ,‘v'  >'••  . '*  ■•'  '’•>'*  ’‘*''  V’  /M 

m ' wfyi-Ur;  T.t' 

'-V  , 'JS*  .'  . -f*r'  ' ,.  ' •■'  ■'*■-!'  ' .;5(^  ’ '7 


[•^  ;trr^'\'y,'f:$j.m^.^v.., 

_-V  U ■ /■j  <‘ii'‘"'~'^-  '•  - ''  . 


•p ..  “*  . '-.-..y’r' 


K _ii,?.'  ;■.<  ■’*■'  *,  ^ ' ' ■ ■;  ■ •;• . ^ ,‘.i  . v''.  j-.  .■■  -.if  “''3),  ’.^•■‘^  I; 


•'},  Jj^.  . \ ^ ^ m-  ■ ' :’■  *■•;  .J;  . ../."  /'  '*  '..y  ' 'T-.  .^.  '^,  J-/ 

^1'  “f^.  0 r .>Q  . 


yj"'  ' “'  ■ i*  ^ *fl  - A'  ^,;  ''X^  '-  "'/5I  ^ -'  •v'lij.'' 


, .-  ^ ,.-  . , „-. 

L%  :'  '_^V  ' ' .'■•■'■  L.!;'  u/  ■ .ik:  r .liM 


»'■< . 

>a’;v'jS-  .. 


CJ-  ■■ 


.'.  -^*m;<..'.  wSMr.  'rt'u-’ 

**!■' . 1 . ' i’U‘  »»v  -7 


3.T 


81 


History  for  them  has  no  'i^rord  of  praise;  yet  they, 
too,  were  not  giving  their  blood  in  vain.  Their* 
lives  might  have  been  as  useless  as  the  lives  of 
most  of  us.  In  their  deaths  they  assisted  to  pay 
the  purchase  money  for  England's  freedom. 


IV 

The  "Italian  Danger” 

Of  all  the  foreign  influences  acting  upon  English  life 
and  thought  in  the  sixteenth  century,  the  Italian  was  by  far  the 
most  powerful.  This  preeminence  of  Italy  in  the  sixteenth  century 
was  due  to  her  early  development,  in  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth 
centuries, of  the  highest  type  of  humanistic  and  pagan  culture, 
expressing  itself  in  manners,  learning,  art  and  literature.  Already 
in  the  fifteenth  century  Englishmen  went  to  Italy  to  study  the  New 
Learning  which  was  supplanting  medievalism,  and  thither  Colet  went 
to  prepare  for  a career  as  teacher  of  the  veritable  religion  of  the 
New  Testament.  Erasmus,  as  we  have  seen,^  was  inspired  by  the 
example  of  Valla. 

But  by  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century  this  splendor 
of  Italy  was  nothing  but  an  afterglow.  The  Reformation  had  made 
the  Church  turn  hostile  to  the  New  Learning;  in  1540  Paulus  Jovius 
lamented  that  scholarship  had  migrated  from  Italy  to  Germany.  And 
according  to  Jebb,  the  most  learned  Italian  of  the  latter  half  of 
the  century.  Cardinal  Baronius  (1538-1607),  the  author  of  Annales 
Ecclesiastici.  was  unacquainted  with  Greek. ^ With  this  degradation 

^Froude,  History  of  England,  Vol.II,  N.Y.  (1868).  Chap. IX,  359. 
^Chap.  I,  p.  57. 

Jebb,  in  Cambridge  Modern  History.  I,  Chap,  xvi,  568. 


, 'V,:  B' , 

'■■  'T  ' &■<- 


i.'W^‘-'  t .VTf 


PK  't'i 


-J*;.  ' : fer.;’-,' • ■^m.  il  V'  V'  ;.  I?  ' ’ '"  • '■'^■  ■- ■'  ' 


. ■f'- 


';-.w4 " 


•v>  ‘,V 


/ • .«• 

■ l>  t • » , ' 


W .3»”»  '5 


fey.’  ",  , 


*'»S  '*  ‘ ■ ' ■ ’ ■>'V*'<*  V-'v'..v  ••  ;■  ' ' ' ■ ' i:  “ •■•  ■ ' 


■ ■>;  <*> 


^ A . * *-  ' -»  ^ ' 1..  ■ .'4jCu  JU.-A.  JA  ^ A tJu 


l^SAiie  %eS 

:/i,l:;%:y  m:-  ' ' ■ i«,.^<j«^| 


' '#5i*  ^”'  jrun,  ,iia 


t ^ / '• ' **^  ■ ‘i  *'  ^ 'ij^ ' -'  ^ 

■■'  ■ 'i  ’■•  ■>'.  *1 V ■'.' y, y a .(?P,'-%4j® 


} ^,'A  r j 


82 


of  Italian  culture  came  of  course  a change  in  the  character  and 
intentions  of  the  travellers  who  flocked  to  Italy  from  all  parts 
of  Europe.^  They  no  longer  sought  a knowledge  of  Greek  and  Hebrew; 
they  might  study  medicine  at  Padua;  bat  most  of  them  went  to  Italy 
to  acquire  something  more  popular  and  superficial  than  learning, 
namely  a courtly  manner,  Italian  affectations,  Italian  oaths,  an 
audacious  gallantry  with  the  ladies,  and  an  acquaintance  with  a 
vernacular  literature  which  was  the  most  artistic  in  form  and  in 
thought  the  most  thoroughly  emancipated  in  Europe.  In  short,  Italy, 
no  longer  the  home  of  Humanism  as  Ficino,  Erasmus,  and  Colet 
understood  it,  had  become  the  disseminator  of  Paganism,  the  school 
of  the  Epicureans  and  Libertines. 

Ascham  has  recorded  with  definiteness  — — and,  we  may 

believe,  with  substantial  accuracy  — the  effect  of  Italian  travel 

on  the  average  Englishman.  These  "Italianated  Englishmen, « he  says, 

"have  in  more  reverence  the  Triumphs  of  Petrarch  than 
the  Genesis  of  Moses;  they  make  more  account  of  Tully’s 
Offices  than  St.  Paul's  Epistles;  of  a tale  in 
Boccace,  than  a story  of  the  Bible.  Then  they  count 
as  fables  the  holy  mysteries  of  Christian  religion. 

They  make  Christ  and  his  gospel  only  serve  civil 
policy.  Then  neither  religion  cometh  amiss  to  them: 
in  time  they  be  promoters  of  both  openly;  in  place 
again  mockers  of  both  privily;  . . . For  when  they 
dare,  in  company  where  they  like,  they  boldly  laugh 
to  scorn  both  protestant  and  papist.  They  care  for 
no  Scripture;  they  make  no  count  of  general  councils; 
they  contemn  the  consent  of  the  church;  they  pass  for 
no  doctors;  they  mock  the  pope,  they  rail  on  Luther; 
they  allow  neither  side;  they  like  none,  but  only 
themselves.  The  mark  they  shoot  at,  the  end  they 
look  for,  the  heaven  they  desire,  is  only  their  07m 
present  pleasure  and  private  profit;  whereby  they 
plainly  declare  of  whose  school, of  what  religion 
they  be;  that  is.  Epicures  in  living,  axi(X 
in  doctrine.  This  last  word  is  no  more  unknown 
now  to  plain  Englishmen,  than  the  person  was  uin- 


^Einstein,  Lewis,  Italian  Renaissance  in  England,  N.Y. (1902) . Chap. 

Clare,  English  "Travellers  ^ the  Renaissance.  London 


^ rt/ ■ ,i(i<mt<m^  ^t^.-  XfiE, 

''  .-  ■"'. ' • .-K  . 'M 


iki  . •■  ' . ■ ' • . *'  ’■>  -.*'  ■ V ^ ■■*>  .■.'•c--.>’'‘'*’^»''''^^^T>l'  V j 


ttk  ■■■  ■ ■••  . ■'•;  . ■■  '•  ■ ■'  ■'■>  ' •, : .'*  ;•.  ;.'■  • • -j  v ■ , 


evii'  sri4,  in 


( i .»■  r 


‘■n  - ■ ^ • - ^:''- . - *■  ---  ■ - - II-  Jili  T~Zr_ 


'?■<»?:  ■.  r:.' : : ' / ' ‘.«*’  .. 


■pHiiHfi&N 


83 


known  soiKOtimo  in  England,  until  some  Englishnian 
took  pains  to  fetch  that  develish  opinion  out  of 
Italy.  . . 

"And  yet  these  men,  in  matters  of  divinity, 
openly  pretend  a great  knowledge,  and  have 
privately  to  themselves  a very  compendious 
understanding  of  all;  which  nevertheless  they 
will  utter,  when  and  where  they  list.  And  that 
is  this:  All  the  mysteries  of  Moses,  the  whole 

law  and  ceremonies,  the  Psalms  and  Prophets, 

Christ  and  his  gospel,  GOD,  and  the  devil, heaven 
and  hell,  faith, conscience,  sin,  death,  and  all, 
they  shortly  wrap  up,  they  quickly  expound  with 
this  one ^ half  verse  of  Horace.  Credat  Judaeus 
Apella.  ~ 

We  smile  today  at  Ascham’s  fear  of  such  innocuous  authors 
as  Petrarch  and  Cicero.  But  we  mis-read  the  passage  if  we  do  not 
see  in  it  a valuable  document  on  the  outward  appearance  of  the 
"Italian  Danger."  The  men  who  brought  it  from  Italy  were  cultivated 
and  enthusiastic  students  of  literature . On  their  return,  they  did 
not  parade  in  public  their  irreligion  and  immorality;  Ascham  tells 
us  that  they  observed  the  law  and  went  to  church.  Only  in  the 
seclusion  of  a private  library,  perhaps,  surrounded  by  intimate 
friends  who  could  be  trusted,  would  the  "Italianate  Englishman" 
bring  out,  in  addition  to  Tully  and  Petrarch,  those  more  dangerous 
volumes  of  Machiavelli,  Pomponatius,  and  others,  and  discuss  those 
hazardous  doubts  which  were  punishable  at  the  stake.  The  severity 
of  the  statutes  made  the  dissemination  of  sceptical  ideas  perilous 
and  secret.  And  therefore  the  scepticism  and  indifference  which 
ffas  at  the  heart  of  the  Italian  culture  which  English  appropriated 
in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  was  cloaked  by  a noble  enthusiasm  for 
letters. 


Ascham  Schoolmaster.  Works,  ed.  Giles,  IV,  161-2.  For  oorrobora- 
Ascham' s account,  see  Feuillerat,  John  Lyly.  Cambridge 
U-IO; . pp.  51-5,  and  Einstein,  op.  cit.  pp.  158-ff. 


i 

ft 


; 


Aschara's  protest  was  futile.  Italian  culture  possessed 
the  Court.  It  dominated  the  drama,  which  was  protected  by  the 
Queen  herself  against  the  attacks  of  the  English  Puritan  bourgeois; 
from  Marlowe  to  Ford  the  English  drama  is  almost  entirely  free  from 
the  theological  preconceptions  of  the  Reformation  — even  of 
Christianity.  Through  the  Court  and  the  drama,  the  paganism  of 
Italy  penetrated  among  the  nobility  and  gentry,  the  universities 
and  the  Inns  of  Court.  Already  in  1589,  Thomas  Cooper,  Bishop  of 
Winchester,  could  say  that  there  were  in  England  "an  infinite 
number  of  Epicures  and  Atheists."^  In  1593  Thomas  Nashe  gave  the 
following  advice  to  the  University  men  that  were  called  to  preach 
at  Paul's  Cross  and  the  Court: 

"Arme  yourselues  against  nothing  but  Atheisme, 
meddle  not  so  much  with  Sects  & forraine  opinions 
but  let  Atheisme  be  the  onely  string  you  beate  on; 
for  there  is  no  Sect  now  in  England  ^so  scattered 
as  Atheisme.  In  vayne  doe  you  preach,  in  vayne 
doe  you  teach,  if  the  roote  that  nourisheth  all 
the  branches  of  security  be  not  thorowly  digd 
up  from  the  bottome.  You  are  not  halfe  so  wel 
acquainted  as  them  that  lyue  continually  about 
the  Court  and  Citty,  how  many  followers  this  damn- 
able paradoxe  hath:  how  many  high  wits  it  hath  bewitcht.''^ 

This  diffusion  of  free  thought  was  a part  of  that  complete  seculari- 
zation of  culture  and  thorough  paganism  which  characterizes  the 
great  literary  outburst  at  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century. 

But  this  development  did  not  take  place  unchallenged. 

Of  course  the  foppish  manners  of  some  "Italianate"  Englishmen 
excited  universal  ridicule  and  contempt,  but  there  was  also  an 

Rep?int^hs95T^^p  ^ ^ People  of  England.  Arber's 

%ashe,  Christs  Tears  over  Jerusalem. Works.  ed.McKerrow,  II,  121. 


' T I u*' '4  r V T V' • '•Vi’a 

;/l|  Vijn  " ‘ 

■'7  -If’  ■ • "*'  '•  ^ 


■k\  . 


-<}  > 


■ ' .‘^'  • -'■  V,  '’•  * «®*.,  »<^  4"'W.iSrni»-  f A' Anf-' 


'<s^u’CiA‘ 


ijf  Tr,t  ■ »rf9  Ki^’".»j^p 

^ . ;;i  , . Hi,  . . . J ^ . ..  ^ ' . A*k 


.s'fSsfe.  *As;OsT\  irSi.'Wja  ■®“^ 


».••'  r -v'  ' vt  ' . iT4-  , ’/'’»•  *1  • ' ' V 4 ’ > ' ‘ 

;.  •yr.  •;  ■ ;>*i  i ft  . '’'«0iwi^#-''’  < 


#;i^r.ci,rx«tfelv.  «04xi;  ■**!«>. ®«"  $**  »ytAj*r«pa^'M% 

>t  • V * iv.v-:a'‘  ■ - . , , CifTi  ,V.  . ■ 

S '■ " W'Sft  ' ;'-<»>»-_ .ds:.-s<f9V  s^  9^?i^<? 


85 


intellectual  and  spiritual  resistance  to  the  immoral  and  sceptical 
nature  of  the  Italian  influence.  Many  open-minded  men  studied  the 
”new  thought”  of  the  time  with  the  greatest  care,  and  rejected  it. 
Only  by  this  supposition  can  we  explain  that  almost  total  absence 
of  any  trace  in  English  literature  of  Giordano  Bruno,  which  has 
excited  so  much  comment.^  Bruno  was  in  England  from  the  spring  of 
1583  until  October  1585.  He  published  seven  works  in  England;  two 
of  them  he  dedicated  to  Sidney.  But  Sidney  seems  not  to  have  taken 
the  pantheistic  enthusiasms  of  the  Italian  very  seriously;  on  his 
death  in  1586  he  left  an  incomplete  translation  of  a quite  different 
work,  the  treatise  ^ verite^  de  la  religion  chrestienne  by 
Duplessis-Mornay,  the  Huguenot  friend  of  Languet.  Sidney  was  a 
genuine  Christian  humanist,  and  he  undoubtedly  saw  that  the  thought 
of  Bruno  was  inconsistent  with  his  own  tastes  and  principles. 
Likewise  Spenser,  whose  Cantos  on  Mutability  are  probably  indebted 
to  Bruno,  studied  the  novel  ideas  familiarised  by  the  Italian 
influence,  and  either  rejected  them  or  adapted  them  to  harmonize 
with  a philosophy  of  life  in  many  respects  resembling  that  of  Sidney, 
In  studying  such  men  as  Spenser  and  Sidney,  men  of  firm 
intellectual  character  as  well  as  of  philosophical  comprehension, 
who  lived  in  a stimulating  age  of  ferment  and  conflict  of  ideas,  we 
must  consider  carefully  not  only  the  sources,  but  the  purposes  of 
their  many  borrowings  from  other  writers.  They  did  not  read  without 
critical  acumen,  and  their  intimate  knowledge  of  an  author  does  not 
always  imply  discipleship . This  commonplace  principle  has  been 

^McIntyre,  J.  Lewis,  Giordano  Bruno.  London  (1903).  pn.  21-ff. 

^Iton,  Oliver,  Modern  S~tudies.~  London  (1907).  pp.  34-ff. 


"(V  .■;«ti44xn:^^  %V70;,'  »^i 

i>i  .« -5rt^ ■•  <t54/ifv'  T«ifc 

L'w>w»,«  »V.4arfi  (.nff/lnuMarfl'  «!!f^scfa.!tl  VJiUI  ii‘t''*ii’X  ij 


;•  <,  ■ ..,  %£,‘4,:-  .,(r^n 

^•.v  .'.  ' i ' • .'  . .J^^v  . M .i-^L.4:.  w vii'.^<-  . J-  -Cw-  , 


86 


obscured  in  connection  with  Sidney  and  Spenser  by  even  so  dis- 
tinguished a scholar  as  Professor  Greenlaw.  For  instance,  in  a 
remark  on  Sidney,^  he  says  that  "Du  Bartas  paid  tribute  to  Sidney, 
who  was  greatly  interested  in  the  flood  of  Protestant  literature 
that  was  coming  from  France,  and  who  seems  to  have  been  so  well 
acquainted  with  the  author  of  La  Sepmaine  as  he  was  with  Bruno. 

Thus  the  two  contending  forces  met  in  this  brilliant  young 
Englishman."  Forces  may  meet  in  mortal  combat,  but  it  is  clear 
from  the  context  that  the  meeting  here  meant,  is  an  impossible 

reconciliation.  Similar  is  the  tenor  of  Professor  Greenlaw's 
2 

article  in  which  he  shows  with  great  success  that  Spenser's  concep- 
tion of  Mutability  was  indebted  to  Lucretius  for  descriptive 
details  and  imagery.  But  he  also  implies  that  Spenser  accepted  the 
Lucretian  philosophy.  "Spenser,"^  he  says,  "was  like  Plato  in  the 
wide  range  of  his  interests  and  in  his  indifference  to  forming  a 
consistent  philosophical  system.  The  Lucretian  element  in  his  work 
is  only  another  bit  of  evidence  of  his  intellectual  curiosity." 
Spenser,  it  is  true,  had  intellectual  curiosity.  But  to  assume 
that  Spenser  accepted  the  anarchistic  atomism  of  Lucretius  is  to 
assume  that  he  was  neutral  in  the  conflict  between  Jove  and  the 
Titans,  a conflict  in  which  even  the  serene  Goethe  declared  himself 
on  the  side  of  Jove.  Spenser  was  not  neutral.  His  cantos  on 
Mutability  are  his  last,  most  philosophical  grappling  with  the 
terrible  problem  of  Change  which  had  haunted  Spenser  from  his 

^Studies  in  Philology.  XVII,  324,  note. 

Greenlaw,  A.  E.,  Spenser  and  Lucretius,  in  Studies  in  Philology. 
XVII,  439-ff. 

2 

Ibid.  p.  464. 


i.  'V  ' ,'Vl 


...^^7  ■s.iJ.Itc-  ;4* 

^.■'V.VT  . 5^.  , *A '■  ■ 'JJ  V ■ I'Jaal^.,  .,  '>r;  . J 

':^m^»^'‘^'-  5'"'  --Citi'*  ,6.-<';:ff'  t«as»w«- W '^A*'i 

. - ■•-  ' I*  ' 'yL*;  J ‘^f*^J  • iS.^’  - ' *'  V*>  .■'  a1 

4 C6  .tV'  i .«««>rfi-  -»4>»'.-.4krtr  I 


i- 


Vj4L  i |*j  -^.  . , . 

•■„*,  2£U^'^ W V 


) « 


W^>  t<^M:k^ti.  V>Uvif-3  ‘ffe_  ’«,-(s>  S'itt  - r 


87 


melancholy  youth  to  the  end  of  his  career.  He  sought  all  his  life 
in  anguish  for  a solid  footing  somewhere  among  the  shifting  sands, 
something  "eterne  in  Mutabilitie . ” We  know  moreover  that  Spenser 
thought  that  he  had  conquered  even  that  Lucretian  philosophy  which 
Mutability  presented  as  proof  that  it  should  have  the  supremacy  over 
Jove  5 for  at  the  conclusion  Jove  was  ” confirmed  in  his  imperial 
see."  And  the  imperfect  Faerie  Queene  ends  appropriately  with  an 
expression  of  the  deepest  longing  in  Spenser's  intellectual  and 
spiritual  life,  rising  at  last  to  prayer: 

"Then  gin  I thinke  on  that  which  Nature  sayd, 

Of  that  same  time  when  no  more  Change  shall  be. 

But  stedfast  rest  of  all  things  firmely  stayd 
Upon  the  pillours  of  Eternity, 

That  is  contrayr  to  Mutabilitie : 

For,  all  that  moueth,  doth  in  Change  delight: 

But  thence-forth  all  shall  rest  eternally 
With  Him  that  is  the  God  of  Sabbaoth  hight: 

0 that  great  Sabbaoth  God,  graunt  me  that  Sabaoths  sight." 

Sidney  and  Spenser  were  the  most  distinguished  men  of 
letters  with  Puritan  leanings.  But  there  were  a host  of  less 
important  writers  and  pamphleteers,  Puritan  Jeremiahs,  who,  in  their 
unenlightened  diatribes  against  the  infection  of  Italian  paganism, 
yet  contrived  to  speak  pretty  much  the  mind  of  the  average 
Englishman  on  many  questions;  they  were  not  lovers  of  art  and 
fastidiousness,  but  they  had  an  English  sense  for  soundness  and 
wholesomeness  in  character.  And  in  one  respect  at  least,  in  the 
general  indignation  against  what  were  believed  to  be  the  teachings 
of  Maohiavelli,  the  opposition  to  the  Italian  Renaissance  in  England 
acquired  a truly  national  character. 


" " v;,V‘ V ■«U  i« ‘ 1K-: • 


^ «5t  a*^’:  i^- ' «)iJ > W8it,  <■>*  *jfj*^*^  ^ 


X^H^xii  ■ a.  i^aO  Ji»if('r -M  »■.  t'd  tS^. .- 

.^J-.&l  Vw  b I A ^ M ^ i#^4JFi  ' .if*  * J !_•  ii^^  1~  fj  ^ ‘ 


■ • '5¥, ; .t^5> 

. ■^'.  « ' . ' , - ■ . w;>^-  ',  -:j  ^ ■,.' 


y^i:  r'y  '■  , . '.  •■  ■■  ■‘T  ' T ^ 

^ 4£o:/m  :>^rpMpi-4%} 

j^>rv  : '.  A«  ' ^v>  ^ 

'*  ’ ■ 4mt(  .irW  ^0  s^^fvai.  9i«tf 

'*  ^.-*'  ■?.•’  ■'  *.  ■•■  ■ ,S/  ' ' ‘ ’ * .Hl'"  .T„  J 


’>  r />5  ■ • ' '?.f 

sA'y:' 


. > 


^ ‘ 


' ii- . • 

■■imi  wry*ifl»iii 


88 


V 

Machiavellism  in  England 

Maohiavelli' s reputation  in  the  Renaissance  no  doubt  was 
exaggerated  and  distorted;  nevertheless,  a man’s  reputation  is 
always  a guide  as  to  the  nature  of  his  general  influence.  As  was 
noted  in  the  previous  chapter,  the  Frenchman  Garasse  placed 
Machiavelli  in  the  first  rank  in  the  library  of  the  libertines. 

And  the  Italian  Vanini,  whose  mysterious  career  in  England,  France 
and  Italy,  and  whose  sensational  burning  at  Toulouse  in  1619, 
attracted  the  attention  of  Europe,  referred  to  him  as  Nicolaus 
Macchiavellus.  Atheorum  facile  orinceps. ^ With  this  estimate  of 
Machiavelli  all  northern  Europe  agreed,  and  England  was  no  excep- 
tion. His  cold  and  calculating  selfishness,  his  absolute  indiffer- 
ence towards  religious  thought  and  feeling,  and  above  all,  his 
avowed  practice  of  dissimulation  and  deceit,  these  characteristics 
of  Machiavelli  as  popularly  conceived  in  England,  distinguished  him 
as  the  exemplar  and  champion  of  the  most  dangerous  tendencies  of 
the  Italian  influence.  And  this  moral  indignation  against  the 
, Florentine  was  combined  in  the  average  Englishman  with  a feeling 
r of  insulted  patriotism,  and  often  also  with  religious  fanaticism, 
so  that  the  anti-Machiavellian  animus  became  at  times  a fury. 

The  study  of  Machiavelli  began  early.  If  we  may  trust 
Cardinal  Pole,  Thomas  Cromwell  regarded  the  Prince  as  the  best 
practical  guide  for  statesmanship,  and  the  career  of  Cromwell  cer- 


Vanini,  Amphitheatrum  aeternae  provide nr iae . Lyon  (1615)  p.35. 

Quoted  by  F.  v.Bezold,  Historische  Zeltschrift . vol. 113 (1914)  p.308, 

n . . 


f'-'  - jtt 

, - r^y'y  ■■■•■•• : f :•*  ■.«’  -X  ...  ■-  • •'<», A ^ 
v’/ri,;,-,. ' ,:ii.';  ■ 


t.7 . 


^ '..'  r • .^  <■  |,'  ^ ;JT-  .•*,^.  ' ' . ' ■ ' •^-1' 


t «fOXi 


’ fs* 


9^^^' •-  ^ t s|!4?^;5cv^^r|' 

^ Y tf  ?•  /'.:i%>|'^  . •'•>  ■ ••c.-i*;^.  ,'  -7^-  ,.  V--  i 


'''V4  '•■  . i'  -l 

4.rAX-ot??V^^V 


ffi;  ;-c,  ■;,','v.'''  •,  , . ',.^^  ' ’*•.  .■  'i  "'.'K  ' : ’’itl'  • ’••  ■■'.'‘V/  . ■.'; 


y+ 


*/*  -.'W  4 /■■'Vjl  .- vi  ',  ..  ^ «**‘  ,^:*- ■ '*  ’*•  * WaPs^ 


M _■  , ..  , ..jxy-  ■■  - ■ ■ ■ 


.,\>K,  j> _ 

*4'*’  r^iC  •-  a '-■'  '*X'.  ..  i..i  . .'  '•' .i*;  '.  !^  ..1 . V ■' ' '•.  j.V  ji  .'73i’»W,ii;V  ■»  '' 


»^i,iji|ii'l>ippp— iry*i 


' ■ -Vi?-^  ■ 


89 


tainly  lends  color  to  the  accusation.  A recent  writer  has  tried 
to  trace  the  influence  of  Machiavelli  in  the  state  papers  of 
Burleigh,  and  to  show  a probability  of  the  Queen's  acquaintance 
with  the  works  of  the  Italian.^  He  might  have  strengthened  his 
case  by  quoting  from  a sermon  preached  before  the  Queen  by  Edwin 
Sandys,  in  which  only  three  non-Christian  writers  on  the  state 
are  mentioned:  Plato,  Aristotle  and  Machiavelli. 

"There  is  no  policy,"  the  divine  warned  the 
Queen,  "no  wisdom,  like  the  wisdom  of  God.  The 
commonv/ealths  which  Aristotle  and  Plato  have 
framed  in  their  books,  otherwise  full  of  wisdom, 
yet  compared  with  divine  policies,  with  that 
city  for  whose  sake  and  benefit  the  Lord  doth 
watch,  what  are  they  but  fancies  of  foolish  men? 

As  for  Machiavel's  inventions,  they  are  but  the 
dreams  of  a brain-sick  person,  founded  upon  the 
draft  of  man,  and  not  upon  godly  wisdom,  which 
only  hath  good  effect. "S 


In  this  connection  also  we  may  recall  Archbishop  Parker's  jocular, 
but  pointed  imputation  of  Machiavellism  in  his  confidential  letter 
to  Burleigh,  quoted  earlier  in  this  chapter.  About  the  same  time, 
that  is,  in  1573  and  1574,  we  have  evidence  that  Machiavelli  was 
read  eagerly  by  the  young  men  at  Cambridge,  and  that  Sidney  was 
acquainted  with  him.  From  that  time  on  his  works  seem  to  have 
circulated  freely  in  Italian  among  educated  men;  Harvey  declared 
in  1579  that  at  Cambridge  his  works  had  supplanted  all  others.^ 


^Phillips,  W.  Alison,  The  Influence  of  Macchlavelli  on  the 
Re f ormat i on  in  England . Nineteenth  Century,  vol.  40  (1896).  907-ff . 
^Sermons  of  Edwin  Sandys,  ed.  Ayre,John  (Parker  Society).  p.l53. 
^Harvey,  Gabriel,  Letterbook,  ed. Scott.  (Camden  Society)  p.l74, 
Meyer,  Edward,  Machiavelli  and  the  Elizabethan  Drama,  Weimar  (1897) 
P|.  14-ff. 

Harvey,  Letterbook . p,  79. 


'«  C 


liSi  , ”'  ■ . .;  <“  •'*'  ‘ K--%.P  j"  ' • "., 


"-  K>i.i  f,-^giXs  :zA  t?fo  *t?»“ 


w^Maa'i  ♦w«^‘*^^.' 

^ ^ *i  l'  '*  '*1' i'  . . i«r.”^  '^' i*  • > '*'’  * ^ 


i *-  •■^ 


' ■ ssT''  - 


• AvM^  if  i>TV^^^'.ac^^'J  t/tv.re.ii’^-s,  i}%-^4  “yn  > _ ^ 

i ■ #S',  ’■  - ' " ■"  ■<,’  ' -^:  t " 

- ■'*■^1'  w,  » ■'  . ' VP-  ''  ' r ■ 'f-!r  ' i,>>-  ''  ''’'•  mu  wi’j'  nA.-  j --  .,  a’ ~ ^ 

'r'^i’^ii,  y L- 

i?|  ifwX'i  e»  xip^  ^t<k  ■mfa*^-tia'.ts  -iw/?  MflSf;'  ''* 


•*.  ''J*i  f’ 


•^|\4^,' .,  *?.*»  Zt.1lW'f.-fl  . , ^ , ,,  , 

‘f  _S’:S;^jXi' i«. -is  /,  ..  iL.  '•1..X.  t.. -jL^-tX'  ^ - - - 1— - • ■ V ,_|U 


K'-^: 

iwytii^iiprw  wrTyiit«i>yy;>(f  j 

^ L-I‘...  VWfvr'iVilkLi'tAi 


90 


We  must  conclude,  however,  that  Machiavelli  was  not  widely- 
known  at  first  hand  in  England  in  the  sixteenth  century.  A transla- 
tion of  the  Art  of  War  appeared  in  1573,  and  of  the  Florentine 
History  in  1595,  but  the  Discorsi  and  ^l  Princiue  were  apparently 
considered  too  dangerous  and  ill-famed  to  be  published  in  English 
versions.  The  English  reputation  of  Machiavelli  was  in  fact  not 
derived  primarily  from  a study  of  his  own  works,  but  from  the  attack 
made  on  him  in  1576  by  a French  Huguenot,  Innocent  Gentillet,  who  in 
his  Anti-Machiavel  laid  the  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew  to  the 
influence  of  his  works. ^ This  treatise  was  very  influential  in 
England;  and  Meyer  has  shown  that  even  those  writers  who  had  read 
Machiavelli,  were  unable  to  keep  distinct  the  true  Florentine  as  he 
appears  in  his  o-.m  works,  and  the  tradition  built  up  in  England  on 
the  basis  of  the  book  of  Gentillet. 

The  method  of  Gentillet  was  to  systematize  the  ideas  of 
Machiavelli  into  fifty  maxims,  thus  throwing  into  relief  their 
sceptical  and  immoral  aspects,  and  devote  a commentary  to  refuting 
each  maxim.  ”These  maxims,”  says  Burd,  "were  commonly  accepted  as 
I an  adequate  summary,  and  it  is  impossible  not  to  feel  that  they  are 
in  a large  degree,  responsible  for  'Maohiavellism. ' A few  of 
these  maxims  will  sufficiently  explain  the  religious  and  ethical 
aspects  of  Machiavellism: 

"A  Prince  above  all  things  ought  to  wish  and 
desire  to  be  esteemed  Devout,  although  hee  be  not 
so  indeed. 


^Meyer,  op.  cit.  pp.  19-ff. 

‘^Il  Princi-pe.  ed.  Burd.  Oxford  (1891).  p.54.  Gentillet ’s  maxims 
are  reprinted  by  Meyer,  op.  cit . ,pp. 10-14;  and  the  Elizabethan 
translation  by  Patericke  is  included  by  Boyer,  C.  V.,  The  Villain  as 
Hero  in  Elizabethan  Trage dy,  London  (1914), pp.  S41-5,  from  whom  my 
quotations  are  made . 


C 


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.l^nc  ?J?T 9* ^fe>is !taiiy,<<i»lJW'i/4« 

.:  • . . . ••  -W  .-,  < -r  • V ^ ‘/.A  , .■■.-‘"'.■■■■:  "«••  : 

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1 JB  ■«  ] . 


; ';. , s„  te  • 'll 

te*£s>^  a.V.tp.-  Jliatt,  >»iS 

.: ' ;■ ;.:  ;V  ’2  ^ ^ 

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. 'S'  ^ ^ V -^-.  V ' » Ll-’^jiSW^SLiZ^  f ih'**- f t /*»')*. 


L '.  . , ..  VV  f j ■'.>.-  -. 

» ?-r^;  i'X4'3 .*  .ri>.‘'"r6  . iU  . 


. '>.-  . -•:.  i;».iA.''.'J 


91 


"A  Prince  ought  to  sustaine  and  confirme  that 
which  is  false  in  Religion,  if  so  he  it  turne  to 
the  favour  thereof. 

"The  Paynims  Religion  holds  and  lifts  up  their 
hearts  and  makes  them  hardy  to  enterprise  great 
things:  hut  the  Christian  Religion,  persuading 
to  Humilitie  humbleth  and  too  much  weakeneth  their 
minds,  and  so  makes  them  more  ready  to  he  iniured 
and  preyed  upon. 

"The  great  Doctors  of  the  Christian  Religion, 
hy  a great  ostentation  and  stiffenesse  have  sought 
to  abolish  the  remembrance  of  all  good  letters  and 
antiquit ie . 

"A  Prince  ought  to  follow  the  nature  of  the  Lyon 
and  of  the  Foxe,  yet  not  of  the  one  without  the 
other. 

"A  Prince  ought  not  to  feare  to  be  periured,  to 
deceive,  and  dissemblej  for  the  deceiver  alwaies 
finds  some  that  are  fit  to  be  deceived. 

"A  Prince  ought  to  have  his  mind  disposed  to  turn 
after  every  wind  and  variation  of  Fortune,  that  he 
may  know  to  make  use  of  a vice,  when  need  is." 

Such  was  the  completely  perverse  and  diabolical 
Machiavelli  of  the  popular  English  tradition,  referred  to  hundreds 
of  times  in  Elizabethan  literature  as  the  incarnation  of  deceitful 
wickedness.^  These  references  become  especially  frequent  from 
about  1588  on,  as  much  on  account  of  the  popularity  of  Marlowe's 
plays,  as  the  political  and  religious  situation  to  be  discussed 
presently.  Marlowe  made  his  great  dramatic  success  with  the 
Machiavellian  Tamburlaine,  a magnificent  hero  without  a conscience; 
and  he  followed  it  with  The  Jew  of  Malta,  even  more  popular,  in 
which  Machiavelli  appeared  as  the  Prologue,  unblushingly  admitting 
all  the  viciousness  imputed  to  him  — "I  count  religion  but  a 
childish  toy"  — and  asking  that  the  hero  of  the  play  should  "not 
be  entertained  the  worse  because  he  favours  me."  Marlowe,  who, 
Drayton  said,  was  "bathed  in  the  Thespian  springs,"  and 


Meyer,  op.cit.,  p.  xi,  says  he  collected  395  references  to 
Machiavelli  and  over  500  to  Aretine. 


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p'  ..•■■  ■•'  '’  '*fxi'i“l|jM^;.''  1 

"TR*.--./  ^L^nc,<»ri  L"^-  -lisavjifii  xi*i*iki^’it  ^iJA '•‘J^ '*‘4^  ;,.'V,'/"  f 

t , - jgi^T^^.’^ # ■ )"  ■ » ,.  * y^%rW  ' ''‘  ' ■ jJ 

M'!tl!««lf  “W  m--'JiJi<n;^ce(i.'!»ar  n4  ^7  -J0f trit 

ybh...  f 'C''V  X 


V .'■.  , i..  •j«wJA>'v.*:'  w.  ’ ^-v.  ■ : *■■  \K»  ",  .':v^_  ■x?i*<4,i'vj«P 

lO'V  •v-.'5V»/:'/;::  ■.:  \ '.r  ..  .■  .,..•  ■'■;A.«.  '’^Tl 


i.V'':'.,  ..  •>,  '■;-'l(!  i>■^^ 


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L'  ^ . . 4 b IbMki 


98 


"Had  in  him  those  brave  translunary  things 
That  the  first  poets  had," 

was  able  to  glorify  the  Machiavellian  hero;  he  succeeded  in  making 
a large  English  public  admire  the  splendor  and  virtli  of  a wicked 
and  pagan  character.  It  is  of  course  difficult  to  prove  the  bias 
of  an  author  from  the  hero  of  his  play;  one  must  always  allow  for 
the  necessities  of  the  plot  and  emotional  effect.  But  every  one 
feels,  I think,  that  the  gorgeous  pageantry  and  rich  poetic  style 
of  Marlowe’s  plays  exceed  the  requirements  of  the  drama;  they  are 
the  expression  of  the  author's  own  pagan  tastes  and  enthusiasms. 
Marlowe  was  consequently  under  suspicion  even  in  his  own  day.  As 
Courthope  says,  "Between  him  and  the  Puritanic  element  in  the  nation 
the  rupture  was  absolute  and  complete."^  That  a dramatist  so 
frankly  pagan  in  spirit  as  Marlowe  in  these  two  plays,  should  be  so 
popular,  is  indicative  of  the  extent  to  which  Italian  culture,  even 
when  frankly  sceptical,  was  acceptable  in  the  London  of  Elizabeth's 
later  years.  Shakespeare  bowed  to  the  popular  taste,  and  that 
splendid  sinner,  the  Machiavellian  Richard  III,  dazed  the  groundlings 
with  his  virtu,  even  though  in  the  end  his  enemies,  aided  by  "God 
and  our  good  cause,"  overcame  him. 

Nevertheless,  the  admiration  for  this  Machiavellian  stage 
hero  soon  passed,  and  after  Marlowe  no  dramatist  tried  to  arouse  it. 
Outside  of  the  drama  Machiavelli  seems  to  have  had  no  champions 

Courthope,  History  of  English  Poetry.  II,  403-ff.  The 
Machiavellism  of  Marlowe  has  been  much  discussed.  See:  Ulrici,  H. , 
Christouher  Marlowe  und  Shakespeare  * s Verhaltniss  zu  ihm. Shakespeare 
Jahrbuoh . Berlin  (1865).!,  57-ff.;  Simpson,  Richard,  Transactions. 
I-Qw  Shakespeare  Society.  (1874) , pp. 381  and  434;  Storo;jenko,  Life  of 
Greene . in  Works  of  Greene,  ed.Grosart,  I.  46-ff.;  Ward,  A.  W. , 
English  Dramatic  Literature.  London  (1899).  I,  339-ff . ; Creizenach, 
English  Drama  in  the  Age  of  Shakespeare , Phila. (1916) . p.289. 


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93 


whatever;  Harvey,  Nashe  and  Greene  vied  with  one  another  in  heaping 
scurrility  on  him.  The  term  Machiave Ilian  was  bandied  frequently 
with  no  other  meaning  than  that  of  gross  insult.  The  reason  for 
this  animus  was  not  only  the  Puritan  hatred  of  the  immorality  and 
infidelity  of  the  Italianate  Englishman,  but  also  a complicated 
religious  and  political  situation  which  led  the  average  patriotic 
Englishman  to  regard  both  Papists  and  Libertines  as  disciples  of 
Machiavelli,  secretly  plotting  to  deliver  England  into  the  hands  of 
her  Continental  enemies.  Therefore  the  legendary  Machiavelli,  con- 
ceived as  the  type  and  master  of  the  traitorous  English  Papist, 
encountered  English  national  feeling  at  its  height  after  the  defeat 
of  the  Armada.  Machiavellist,  atheist,  papist,  and  traitor,  became 
synonymous  terms. 

The  reason  for  this  development  was,  in  the  first  place, 
the  illegal  position  of  Catholics  in  England.  Since  the  Queen  had 
been  excommunicated  in  1570  and  the  Catholics  had  been  absolved 
by  the  Pope  from  all  allegiance  to  her,  it  had  become  difficult 
even  for  the  most  loyal  Catholic  to  prove  that  he  was  not  a secret 
enemy  of  his  country.  He  could  never  be  trusted.  And  the  natural 
tendency  to  suspicion  was  stimulated  by  the  political  activities 
of  the  Catholics  themselves,  whose  plots  in  and  out  of  England  were 
constantly  attracting  attention.  The  national  feeling  aroused 
thereby  expressed  itself  in  the  constant  readiness  of  Parliament  to 
vote  measures  for  harassing  the  Papists.  The  Queen  had  in  fact  to 
watch  her  legislators  lest  they  should  persecute,  and  thus  alienate, 
the  large  number  of  loyal  Catholics  who, she  knew  instinctively, 
would  in  a crisis  choose  allegiance  to  their  Queen  rather  than  to 
the  Pope. 


F*  ' *•  *V  I'm.'  -’■•  . ' ' ■ ■ ’ * ^*  /t  -iff  *!.■«  J .'  •‘^.l’  !.».•'  * 


^ ',:.r  S ‘ ■ ■ ',/  , ' ' j.  ''T. 


ifr ASW 

"''  '4^  '*•'*■  ^ 'f"*'i  7 “''''  ^ - -j  ^ -t  -arjft?'*  ' , ' ''  .W  ‘ M 


' ’ v»  H*'  *'^'*'  ■''  " " '^'''  ' ^-  **  , , e ' ’ '"'.f.  w' 


•'  .' '’  ■-  ' *-■  " , . • “ .%“ 


' ' 'P’>  !&■'<  “ ■ ’ <•  ' ■ " '*  ^ .'  ' '■  ..*o‘*’i^T'i  '” 


* «,  - ';  \v  ' i'  ' ' '.  ^ t- ■ 

.V''-  •.■.-■■■**'>'  ■ *■ . ■ “*■■ .«  -■■  ■■ 


I .,  ry^';^.xX ^ i-^piil7 -eu 


,*> ■ t' J^iT  ...  '“ ' ■ 7. 


94 


Yet  in  such  a situation  the  most  honest  Catholic  was 
forced  to  dissimulate;  technically  he  was  living  in  a divided 
allegiance.  And  his  case  was  made  all  the  worse  by  the  return  from 
Italy  every  year  of  a stream  of  Italianate  Englishmen  who  by  their 
conduct  fastened  on  the  papacy  the  blame  for  the  atheism  and 
immorality  imputed  generally  to  Italian  life.  The  shrewd  and 
accurate  Ascham  early  in  Elizabeth's  reign  described  the  conduct  of 
these  travelled  Englishmen  on  their  return  home. 

"Though  in  Italy,"  he  says,  "they  may  freely 
be  of  no  religion,  as  they  are  in  England  in  very 
deed  too;  nevertheless  returning  home  into  England, 
they  must  countenance  the  profession  of  the  one  or 
the  other,  howsoever  inwardly  they  laugh  to  scorn 
both.  And  though  for  their  private  matters  they 
can  follow,  fawn,  and  flatter  noble  personages, 
contrary  to  them  in  all  respects;  yet  commonly 
they  ally  themselves  with  the  worst  papists,  to 
whom  they  be  wedded,  and  do  well  agree  together 
in  three  opinions;  in  open  contempt  of  God's  word, 
in  a secret  security  of  sin,  and  in  a bloody  desire 
to  have  all  taken  away  by  sword  and  burning,  that 
be  not  of  their  faction.  They  that  do  read  with 
indifferent  judgment  Pighius  and  Machiavel,  two 
indifferent  patriarchs  of  these  two  religions, do 
know  full  well  that  I say  true."! 

This  pretence  to  religion  for  reasons  of  policy,  whether 
by  a stateman  or  individual,  was  always  thought  to  be  a mark  of 
discipleship  to  the  Florentine;  and  this  "politic"  simulation  of 
religion  became  a burning  question,  constantly  discussed.  Bishop 
Cooper  wrote  in  1589  of  "certaine  worldly  and  godlesse  Epicures, 
which  can  pretend  religion,  and  yet  passe  not  which  end  there  of 
goe  forwarde,  so  they  may  bee  partakers  of  that  spoyle,  which  in 
this  alteration  is  hoped  for."^  Hooker  also  feels  obliged  to  refute 


^Ascham,  The  Schoolmaster.  Works . ed,  Giles,  IV,  162-3. 
‘^Cooper,  Thomas,  An  Admonition,  etc.,  ed.  cit.  p.  27. 


mm-^y.  'y:' '^  - ■■  *'  i •/ ' ;• ; , <•  ^ *\ 

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;■  '■•  V : ■ .'•■'•  .'-■*%imm  .-Vvwf  ■ .4 


fhr -*  !^'  -rv * - s-l  'rtf 

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. J-0-,  %t.^  «S.*'K<,.. 

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..^  1 ' 1^  ▼ ^ 4.«l*  i'  V j -'^•W  • . I J • ,.  • 1 / T ^ .1  «f*UL.  , • • • 'J»  .tfM. 

.»^«'  •■•jK  ;*tB  ■•.<  . J ^ a- . .iJ'.:\''^T'''-?'i^?V^  "W' ■ * 


i^mq??7. 


95 


those  atheists  who  see  that  there  is  a ’•politic  use  of  religion” 
and  by  it  ’’would  also  gather  that  religion  itself  is  a mere 
politic  device,  forged  purposely  to  serve  for  that  use”;  as  the 
exponent  of  this  theory  he  refers  in  a note  to  Machiavelli. 1 And 
it  was  one  of  the  characteristics  of  the  Machiavellian  dramatic 
hero  that  he  should  pretend  to  religion  in  order  to  make  himself 
more  secure  in  the  practice  of  his  villainy.^ 

English  feeling  against  these  untrustworthy  elements  in 
the  country  became  more  rather  than  less  acute  towards  the  end  of 
Elizabeth’s  reign.  Jesuit  activities,  the  hostility  of  Philip  II 
of  Spain,  plots  to  attack  England  by  way  of  Catholic  Ireland,  all 
kept  the  English  nervous  and  ready  to  strike  in  self-defense.  Some 
of  the  important  developments  of  this  situation,  such  as  the 
Gunpowder  plot,  would  carry  us  beyond  the  limits  of  this  chapter. 

But  the  state  of  the  English  mind  at  the  close  of  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth,  its  paradoxical  identification  of  Catholic  and  atheist, 
and  passionate  hatred  of  both,  is  excellently  indicated  in  The 
Unmasking  of  the  Politike  Atheist,  a little  volume  by  one  John  Hull, 
twice  printed  in  1603.  In  the  preface  to  the  reader  he  says: 

”The  consideration  therefore  of  these  lamentable 
times  hath  wroong  from  me  this  briefe  Treatise. 

Wherein  thou  maist  behold  the  very  map  of  Papistrie: 
a doctrine  turning  the  truth  of  God  into  a lye,  and 
religion  into  superstition:  persuading  men  to  all 
ungodlinesse,  and  yet  ouershadowing  all  with  the  shew 
of  religion:  arming  the  subiect  against  the  Prince, 


^Hooker  E^cclesiastical  Polity.  Bk.  V,  ii,  3.  Ed.cit.,II,  19-31. 

In  Marlows,  ed.  Tucker  Brooke,  see  Jew  of  Malta.  11.  519-ff.  and 
1550-ff. ; Edward  the  Second, 3387 -f f. ; The  Massacre  at  Paris.  130-ff . 
...Also  Shakespeare's  Richard  III.  Act  I,  sc.iii,  334-ff.  These  passages 
are  selected  as  typical  of  the  many  cited  throughout  the  pages  of 
Meyer's  monograph. 


1 


96 


and  yet  defens  it  by  the  beastly  bull  of  Popish 
excotnauinication.  Sowing  sedition  and  treasons 
in  the  land,  yet  dare  appeare  unto  the  Lords  of 
the  Councell  as  men  blame  lease  and  religious,^ 
as  did  that  Machiuillian  Turkish  practiser  (as 
the  Priests  of  his  oi-me  profession  doe  terme  him) 

Parsons  that  iugling  Jesuits:  whereas  they  meane 
nothing  else,  but  the  utter  subuersion  of  religion 
and  the  State,  as  plainly  appeareth  by  the  workes 
of  Sir  Francis  Hastings  and  Sutliue.  Thus  are 
they  well  practised  in  Machieuel,  turning  religion 
into  policie  . . . Way  then  the  end  of  this  short 
treatise,  and  let  us  be  more  thankefull  unto  God 
for  the  riches  of  his  reuealed  truth.  First  it 
unmaskes  the  Politicians,  that  sute  religion  after 
the  fashion  of  their  policie.  Secondly, it  forewarnes 
and  so  forearmes  thee  against  these  popish  charmes 
that  now  flie  about  the  land,  least  unwittingly 
thou  be  inchanted  with  them.  Thirdly,  it  gives 
thee  a taste  what  benefits  thou  shalt  receive  by 
entertaining  Papistrie,  namely  heresie,  policie, 
superstition,  Atheisme,  and  all  ungodlinesse . 

Fourthly,  it  desciphers  unto  thee  the  enuious, 
murthering,  and  cruel  nature  of  a right  Papist, 
that  hangs  his  whole  religion  upon  the  Popes 
sleeve.  . . Lastly,  it  arraes  thee  with  truth  by 
unfoulding  of  the  contrary,  which  truth  God 
graunt  us  to  embrace  to  his  glorie,  our  health, 
and  the  countries  good  ...” 

In  the  last  decade  of  the  sixteenth  century,  then, 
Machiavelli  was  not  reputed  in  England  as  the  exponent  of  a 
scientific  realpolitik:  even  the  actual  readers  of  his  works  had 

their  impressions  colored  by  the  current  representation  of  him, 
and  could  hardly  have  conceived  of  him  as  merely  a scientist,  who 
was  universally  dreaded  as  the  servant  of  the  Spirits  of  Darkness. 
’’Machiavellism”  in  the  English  Renaissance  stood  first  of  all  for 
the  corrupting  influence  of  Italian  paganism;  then  for  the  "atheism" 
of  the  free  thinkers  of  the  period  — mistakenly  connected  in  this 
■way  with  Anabaptism  and  other  similar  sects  of  the  Reformation;  and 


In  margin:  "See  the  Spanish  Proclamation  in  Ireland." 

i 


' w'  - "*  • ' ” ‘ ■ - ^ ■ vt"?»-  '^migt^-  T^ 

fu  r ■'.■  ' • ■ ,v:„;y 

;.'  I-.'--  •••  '::.■■'  ,"  ^''-V^< 

»■>!.  ;.  _':5\  ....  i #/,-♦.•  rj  raa'Sm  »s 


3'i  ' ^,n^iU  a,r«ij.AO-0  9 Jt-y».’f  ^-JJ  !»■  "i*  ■5,,^ 

■'  ' *1.'  . "^  '.'  ■ ^ • . ' ■ ■'  ■'■'jt  ' ‘ ' ' '^'i#  '^« 

5^  ■ '^*  y<*>  '/SCi?  'i'  ^ 

|i’'  »*^'*xi(Vii ' '“.i  £ - S':  ^ 5 Cf .-  ,tl  '^| 

^?l'A.  '''•’'pii''l>&  ii ^ t%ss'^\- K ^ i>^aiSbc% 

■'.:  ’ .Lv.:/-,  ‘35«.  ;.J'-y.J 


■c-»iiJ-  ^■.f'JWV**'  .’■ 


' ■-  '-  . ■:  ■ .'M  ■-''■p-  >:M.  ■ 

-.f  ; 'V  : ,.^,  r-' ff  ^ 

, " ,*ij(w'«il  fi/  aeifij'Befcpv'J-  «Bi.'rr;S,..erf>  ^ 

! ^''  ,^i»i.  < - ■ -- ■■  ■ ' ' ’ - -'  **'  ...  "'r.'  -^'*’  - ,yJijS3 


97 


finally,  for  the  political  treachery  of  the  English  papists.  That 
the  Machiavellian  type  should  for  a moment  become  a hero  in  the 
English  drama,  sho';7s  how  completely  the  theatre  was  sheltered  at 
that  time  from  the  attacks  of  the  Puritan  bourgeoisie.  For  nowhere 
else  in  English  life  were  the  lines  so  clearly  drawn  in  the  some- 
what confused  conflict  between  the  Renaissance  and  the  Reformation.^ 


VI 


The  "Atheism”  of  Marlowe  and  Raleigh 


It  must  have  been  noticeable  that  all  the  evidence  for  a 
sceptical  development  in  the  sixteenth  century  so  far  presented, 
with  the  exception  of  the  testimony  at  the  trials  of  some  luckless 
Arians,  and  a few  passages  from  Marlowe,  has  been  gleaned  from  the 
writings  of  the  enemies  of  free  thought.  Our  description  of  the 
movement  has  been  from  the  exterior.  In  many  ways,  therefore,  it 
has  necessarily  been  vague.  We  have  not  been  able  to  answer  some 


Therefore  it  seems  to  me  to  be  a mistake  to  try  to  find  in 
Spenser  a disciple  of  Machiavelli, as  Professor  Greenlaw  does;  see 
his  article  on  The  Influence  of  Machiavelli  on  Spenser.  Modern 
Philology.  VII  (190971  187 -ff. , and  especially  page  194,  where  he 
says  that  in  the  Veue  Spenser  was  "trusting  to  the  well-kno^m 
popularity  of  Machiavelli ' s writings  at  court,  as  an  element  in  his 
favor,  and  incidentally  seizing  the  opportunity  of  once  more  defend- 
ing Lord  Gray,  this  time  on  the  unimpeachable  authority  of  the 
Italian  thinker."  This  I believe  is  quite  to  misunderstand  the 
party  alignments  in  the  thought  of  the  English  Renaissance. 

Professor  H.S.V. Jones,  in  Spenser  * s Defense  of  Lord  Grey  (1919), has 
shown  that  Spenser's  political  thought  is  to  be  connected  with  the 
Huguenot  politioues.  not  with  Machiavelli,  and  comes  to  the  con- 
clusion (p. 74)  that  in  their  political  principles  he  "can  find  no 
sharper  antithesis  than  that  between  Spenser  and  Machiavelli." 


7;.' 


./’■i 


r;.v:-  '■ ' 


Wm^'^-i  ■ "■■  '•.  -'^i:  V -'=^.  - » 

'-^...  wKnkkifA  •/  '■.'V-  ^ 

R* i' ■■  >- IT;'.  ■ . / /.>  Hz i»ri  , giy r^^'i,ijit , 7 1? •»  ■ '*'**’*^ 

'■  ■ ' -.te 

• . .:/-  V"..  V '_  r ' 'll 

'dr^ecf- 


:’&■:>'  ••A■7■A..aoi;5'c^^T 


V . '. 


■ 7'  " •? 

M 


“iiii  .'^Ui 


t> 

ff.A 


. 1- 


. Ate. . ’ . ' . irf.^7.!j  2Ti 


98 


questions  as  to  the  nature  of  the  scepticism  current  in  the  latter 
period  of  the  century,  such  as,  whether  it  was  a serious  and 
scientific  doubt,  the  result  of  careful  study,  or  merely  the 
insouciance  of  the  pleasure -lover;  if  the  former,  whether  it  was 
concerned  with  theology,  philosophy,  or  historical  Christianity; 
and  to  what  extent  this  scepticism  was  destructive  of  the  funda- 
mental principles  of  religion  and  ethics.  Further  light  will  be 
throTO  on  these  problems  in  the  two  succeeding  chapters,  in  con- 
nection with  the  writings  of  John  Donne  and  Sir  John  Davies.  But 
we  possess  also  some  quite  definite  information  regarding  the 
speculations  of  two  widely  reputed  "atheists”  of  the  time,  Marlowe 
and  Raleigh.  It  is  noteworthy  that  they  were  connected  with  the 
two  chief  avenues  of  the  Italian  influence,  the  theatre  and  the 
Court.  We  may  perhaps  regard  their  opinions  as  typical  of  the 
inner  intellectual  life  of  the  "emancipated”  Elizabethan. 

Contemporary  gossip  about  Marlowe  is  preserved  in  two 
books  printed  within  a few  years  of  his  death.  In  Thomas  Beard's 
of  God's  Judgements  (1597)  we  have  this  account  of  his 
opinions  on  religion:  "hee  denied  God  and  his  sonne  Christ,  and 

not  onely  in  word  blasphemed  the  Trinit ie,  but  also  (as  it  is 
credibly  reported)  wrote  bookes  against  it,  affirming  our  Sauiour 
to  be  but  a deceiuer,  and  Moses  to  be  but  a coniurer  and  seducer 
of  the  people,  and  the  holy  Bible  to  bee  but  vaine  and  idle  stories 
and  all  religion  but  a deuice  of  policie.”^  Sir  William  Vaughan, 
in  T]^  Golden  Grove  (1600),  speaks  of  "one  Christopher  Marlowe,  by 
profession  a play-maker,  who,  as  it  is  reported,  about  14  yeres 

^Quoted  by  Dyce,  Works  of  Marlowe,  London  (1865).  xxxi . 


•■  ii"  ‘.‘  '^  *1  ■ ■>  4.»^\r  '.'»■  *'-^^  V..-.;  -"W  '/  ‘vWk' ..  ^ *' 


'ail?  ■»iir..r'*t^  >><f 

. ' ■ ■■'  ' ■ ■ ' #•■■«'  ; ;,,.  • . •A'"  *,'^SM'  ' 'f^.‘.  f 


**-■'  ‘ <' 


■'  1 ‘-’A: ' *5</  /;l,^'i:r. 

j0ai*-‘W'«'^'*  ■'"*■  /..  'y  '.A'  '7*.  ■ vr'if"  ■ r^'i 


rr^; 

•:B>  "t' 


i M , •••■  -?^»  ■ . ■•■•i  ■•  • ■'  -•■■  'K  v' 

H /■•'  ■ ■ ^'.  ' ■’  ;-;  ? .:"  ; 'V :,  ■ 


at#''  -■ 

jiil . '.  • <v  ^■:*«L 


■ ^ •■  ’UAi  ■■'  ■ ' ■■■„*♦  '.'-  V-<B. 

■ V . ■■  , •'  ' . .'>.r  >*4a'< 


_--  . , . , . . .kA'...  . V'  ii'-i;  , .^ 


:/.i:j9t«ri£t  lKX>1«-'«  >'lli9Mi;iH<  .•;»•» 


islih l"..?*' 


:I^:2liL; 


99 

agoe  ’/irrote  a booke  against  the  Trinitie.”!  Thomas  Warton's 
attempt  to  minimize  this  accusation  against  Marlowe  stimulated 
modern  investigation  and  discussion  of  the  subject. 

Marlowe's  wit  and  sprightliness  of  conversation  ” 
he  wrote  in  his  History,  "had  often  the  unhappy 
effect  of  tempting  him  to  sport  with  sacred 
subjects j more  perhaps  from  the  preposterous  am- 
bition of  courting  the  casual  applause  of  profli- 
gate and  unprincipled  companions,  than  from  any 
systematic  disbelief  of  religion.  His  scepticism 
whatever  it  might  be,  was  construed  by  the  prejudiced 
and  peevish  Puritans  into  absolute  atheism. 

In  his  ^^rvations  on  this  History.  Joseph  Ritson  took  exception 
to  Warton's  apologetic  tone,  and  published  from  manuscript  what  he 
thought  was  "the  strongest  (if  not  the  whole)proof  that  now  remains 
of  his  (Marlowe's)  diabolical  tenets,  and  debauched  morals,"  in 
the  testimony  against  him  by  one  Richard  Baines.^  The  assertions 
imputed  to  Marlowe  by  Baines  are  not  marked  by  serious  thought  or 
philosophical  value;  where  they  are  not  obscene,  they  are  merely 
scoffing.  The  following  are  among  the  more  moderate  in  tone: 

He  affirmeth  that  Moyses  was  but  a lugler,  and 
that  one  Heriots  being  Sir  W.  Raleighs  man,  can  do 
more  than  he.^ 

"That  the  first  beginning  of  Religion  was  only  to 
keep  men  in  awe. 

"That  all  protestantes  are  Hypocriticall  asses. 

"That  if  he  were  putt  to  write  a new  religion,  he 
would  undertake  both  a more  exellent  and  Admirable 
methode.  . . " 

The  tone  of  the  more  virulent  remarks  may  be  inferred 
from  the  following,  quoted  from  Ritson: 

cit.  xxxii. 

gWarton,  glstpry  p^f  English  Poetry,  ed.  Hazlitt,  London(l87l) . IV,313 
Observations,  etc.  London(l782)  .pp.  39-ff.  This  testimony 
was  reprinted  in  expurgated  form  in  Dyce ' s edition  of  Marlo7/e, 
Appendix  II;  and,  again  in  expurgated  form,  from  the  manuscript, by 
i-.b.Boas,  in  his  edition  of  Kyd,  0xford(l90l) , pp.cxiii-ff.  My  first 
quotations  are  from  Boas. 

Sir  W^Ralelghs  man 


-T 


- • ^ ^ J viytit^^^‘^A 


'"I 


■/■,  ' ■■  ■■',',  ■■'■f -v.v' ■',  , ■.  J 


1 


.,.  - ■' '^jr»'  ^:«'y  )p‘  i^c’Kewofc w"W»  . 1 trt«' .' ; 

''  ► '.  kv.  *,"  * < ■' X ' . ■■  M Mil  . ifljC  ■ f , t S3  1 


1 


riLli  •: 


.*  n ' 


V',1  M 


1 t:u» . ‘X  Qa^*'  ,^iiO  tt 


"iB  ,r:  ti  fin  >0  ; : 

".'  »*  ■*?:  '•>.  ^ . 4ft i>.  z . ; * • >4  f ■ (€■<':  f ?•  ;Zr.  i '4^jPl*-  **5 


:3-  ssr  i'i-fre  v'V’^w'^' v>»  it  V-  'PfJ'^'^' 

s'ii  y.fe‘S  :/:,a^a-Bd.'.'  x ■ 'd'ff’  ^ JiC. .mfSy-^pX 


'Vxi 


'y  :.iSi'J0Ci 


r . ,■  ^ ''>■■  .'  - '■  *■'■:  ■ . •'  -u'vAi  ; * , :. 


i^.:  ’ t ,, 


■ 3K  "''•■,  , .'  ,,  t \ y , Mtoiii)  . ^4 f 4;f^. , 

..K^vv  ',x:'': 


m 


tx^om-iCvif  •::««.  /*/  .ivi 


100 


Christ  had  instituted  the  Sacraments 
with  more  ceremonyall  reverence,  it  would  have  been 
had  in  more  admiracicn,  that  it  wolde  have  been  much 
better  beinge  administred  in  a Tobacco  pype. 

”That  Christ  was  a Bastard  and  his  mother  dishonest.” 

Baine * 8 accusations  against  Marlowe,  however,  are  doubtful 
evidence.  Malone  long  ago  pointed  out  the  following  reasons  for 
questioning  their  veracity:  Baines  was  himself  hanged  at  Tyburn 

on  the  6th  of  December,  1594,  about  a year  after  he  submitted 
this  testimony;  the  testim.ony  was  not  upon  oath;  it  contains 
some  incredible  assertions;  Baines  was  not  confronted  with  the 
accused,  nor  was  he  cross-examined;  and  finally,  there  was  no 
corroborative  testimony  presented.^ 

Even  more  conclusive  is  the  entirely  different  tone  and 
tenor  of  such  other  fragments  of  direct  evidence  as  have  come 
down  to  us  from  Marlowe  and  the  circle  about  Raleigh.  In  May^ 1593 
a search  was  m.ade  by  the  authorities  of  the  rooms  of  the  dramatist 
Thomas  Kyd,  and  among  his  papers  was  found  a fragment  of  a 
theological  disputation  which  put  him  in  danger  of  prosecution  for 
”atheism.”  A thorough  investigation  was  planned,  and  Kyd  was  put 
to  the  torture.  He  declared  the  papers  were  Marlowe’s,  and  had 
been  shuffled  with  his  two  years  before,  when  the  two  dramatists 
had  been  writing  in  the  same  room.  Kyd  denied  any  familiarity  with 
one  so  irreligious”;  declared  that  he  himself  was  not  an  atheist, 
"which  some  will  sweare  he  (Marlowe)  was";  and  said  that  "for  more 
assurance  that  I was  not  of  that  vile  opinion,  Lett  it  but  please 
your  Lordship  to  enquire  of  such  as  he  conversed  withall,  that  is 


^Malone's  manuscript  notes. 
Git.,  p.  389. 


quoted  by  Dyce,  V?orks  of  Mar  1 07/e . 


a ■■•'•  ■ ■ '^  " ' ^ SLr  -ki>  'i*-'y^-^il£«'  ^ 

' i..  :t;,:  ..  ;,  - ' j' 


3 f^-  . V ■ ■ . • ’■  ‘‘VK;;.  '✓  • ^■'\*L--l  '.l'^-  . ^'^4 


vj  iSsiji  . ■'  ii  '■  • ' ’ / • T*  i'  ^ ‘ -Tr 

,L|fe«c!vT 


.;i 


. ,|,:  <>fl  4t!  M-s-i#,..  ^r-^-j' 


'^.jy  *V 'Tie  i;«i;.'o^  ^ s-r4t«>^  .i^^-,^i'i^  -^-.  y '^K5-  , .;:<i 

„y  Ar?.  , ■:  / ‘"  di y... 


,i^‘>n.^;>AX4'.  BJT^  ; > '■li^Sra.ii^ --^i;^^  f 
■•  fF  4 . .^''  ■ '‘'-'..lu  ^ . ,rfi.v '•■iw  #*  -.  rwiK  :*  ¥(!  1 «4r-fX«i',  sBiJ  i 


f S/'.:,,  ; y y«iiwtSi8ts:v'M 


■ mi 


« I 


101 


(as  I am  geven  to  understand)  with  Harriot.  Warner.  Hoyden  and 
some  stationers  in  Paules  churchyard.”^  The  caution  of  Kyd's 
language  is  to  be  contrasted  with  the  downrightness  of  that  of 
Baines.  And  when  we  examine  the  disputation  itself,  which  caused 
all  the  investigation,  we  are  struck  not  only  with  its  moderation, 
but  its  reverence  in  dealing  with  sacred  matters,  and  its  search 
for  the  veritable  truths  of  religion  in  Scripture,  "to  which 
sacred  fountain,”  so  the  fragment  concludes, 

”iust  and  right  faith  ought  to  cleaue  & lean 
in  all  controuersies  touching  religion  chefly 
in  this  point  which  seemeth  to  be  the  piller  & 
stay  of  our  religion.  Wher  it  is  called  in 
question  concerning  the  inuocation  of  sainctes 
or  expiation  of  sowles  A man  may  err  without 
great  danger  in  this  point  being  the  ground  & 
foundation  of  our  faith  we  may  not  err  without 
dammage  to  owr  religion.  I call  that  true 
religion  which  instructs th  mans  minde  with 
right  faith  & worthy  opinion  of  God  And  I 
call  that  right  faith  which  doth  creddit  & 
beleue  that  of  God  which  the  scriptures  do 
testify  not  in  a few  places  & the  same  depraued 
& detort  to  wrong  sense  But  ...” 

The  "pillar  and  stay”  of  religion  referred  to  was  the  conception  of 
the  nature  of  God;  and  the  opinion  of  the  disputant  was  that 
. .we  therfor  call  God  which  onlie  is  worthie  this  name  &c 
appellation,  Euer lasting,  Inuisible,  Incommutable  Incomprehensible 
Immortall  &c.”  Christ,  he  therefore  held,  could  not  be  called  God. 


modern  sense;  but  it  was  dangerous  doctrine,  and  its  author  might 
have  been  burned  if  he  had  been  found.  Marlowe  was  indeed  sent  for 
and  examined,  but  his  violent  death  took  place  only  a few  days 


This  disputation  is  clearly  not  atheistical  in  the 


later  and  no  proceedings  of  the  examination  have  been  found  to 


1 

F. 


m'  h '’  :•  • .;*  .^iLu:!^  <.•*•.’ . V’ . .,-\M  ...  ;jy  *Jjv' 

;;.^:vvA.:TCf:t^  .csflip' 

■ 'V.^  T.'  , •'  ^;i;  '■  '?  '■“ '*  ■-m.'tiMie.  , . 


‘JR  * j ^ C . ' ' ' T ^\,  *'  ** ' ' "v^' 

ira’rfis:  ^tl  ; s !;•  t s \ fi.  .*•!  4 ■ . > ’S'tft  ^ 


,,  ■ T ..  , , , ,j  ,.^  .,p 

■^r , : / '?^  ■ ....  ^ - .V, 

'“-'•  at’''  raft'  ,‘ '.’• 


■ W.'w  ' 


• 1 


, fTr»>.,irv.  ^ 

V f*.p  Sn;  V'-J 

■•A'  Vt'v'.''  ■ ^ ■^'  Pi  .t'le-fi/::  tvl  -1  ‘ M 


,;V  ^../  ",V  . ...'  ■ , ' . . >V.'  T*-'' ■■''• 

;..'  i§L.'<.;v  . a:.' «.■'..  '•  ' ' ' •;'  ..■*'  .['■'  ...  . .,  .fX'  „ ' '1R,.<-'V'^  .'  >5’;; 


" ' ■ ■ ■ "'  • ; ;i«f 

Ll  ■:  ^. 


irihiiMM;* ii«iB« J\.„_  ^-■•' 


indicate  what  his  connection  with  this  fragment  really  was.^' 

It  is  probably  not  hisj  internal  evidence  seems  rather  to  indicate 
that  it  is  "from  the  pen  of  some  heretical  clergyman  who  was  on 
the  eve  of  suffering  some  drastic  penalty  for  his  opinions."^  But 
Marlowe  must  have  been  interested  in  the  ideas  expressed,  and  we 
may  assume  that  its  serious  tone  made  some  appeal  to  the  great 
writer  of  tragedy.  But  whatever  significance  we  attach  to  this 
fragment,  it  tends  to  moderate  the  testimony  of  Baines. 

We  have  other  corroborative  evidence  against  Baines  in 
the  connection  of  Marlowe  with  the  circle  of  Raleigh,  referred  to 
in  1593  by  the  Jesuit  Parsons  as  Raleigh's  "school  of  atheism."® 

A number  of  associates  were  mentioned  at  various  times  as  members 
-of  this  circle,  but  the  most  prominent  or  constant  was  the 
mathematician  Harriot.  Anthony  a Wood  has  sketched  the  beliefs  of 
Harriot,  who,  he  says, 

"had  strange  thought  of  the  scripture,  and  always 
undervalued  the  old  story  of  the  creation  of  the 
world,  and  could  never  believe  that  trite 
position,  Ejc  nihilo  nihil  fit . He  made  a 
Philosophical  Theology,  wherein  he  cast  off  the  OLD 
TESTA!\ffiNT,  so  that  consequently  the  NEW  would  have 
no  foundation.  He  was  a Deist,  and  his  doctrine  he 
did  impart  . . . to  sir  Walt.  Raleigh  when  he  was 
compiling  the  History  of  the  World,  and  would  contro- 
vert the  matter  with  eminent  divines  of  those  times. 

Marlowe's  acquaintance  with  Harriot  is  clear  from  the  testimony  of 

Baines  quoted  above,  from  Kyd's  letter,  as  well  as  the  oldest 

tradition;  and  that  Marlowe  was  admitted  to  the  circle  about 


^Boas,  New  Light  on  Marlowe  and  Kvd.  Fortnightly  Review. 
February  1899. 

r^Boas,  Works  of  Kvd.  p.  Ixx. 

Nicholas  Storojenko ' s Life  of  Greene,  in  Greene's  Works,  ed. 
Gjosart.  I,  35-ff. 

Anthony  a Wood,  Athenae  Qxonienses.  ed.  Bliss,  London  (1815). 
il,  300.  Query,  Was  Harriot  the  author  of  the  disputation? 


j SOX 


P'1’ 


f '1^ 

by 


^%gI* 

t'fiC  O • . 


, ^ . ^ ar-. -w  I 


■ ' ■»4  ' !>',^  ..,wJ  a •,  .V! 


^ ' -•fJ- 


103 


Raleigh  seems  established  by  a letter  of  a government  spy,  in 

which  occurs  the  statement  that  Marlowe  told  a certain  Cholmeley, 

a revolutionist  as  well  as  "atheist,"  that  "he  hath  read  the 

Atheist  lecture  to  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  others."^ 

Raleigh's  thought  on  religious  matters  will  therefore 

help  us  to  form  a more  accurate  notion  of  the  ideas  and  tone  of 

this  "school  of  atheism,"  and  incidentally  also  of  Marlowe. 

There  is  preserved  in  manuscript  a record  by  Ralph  Ironside,  of  a 

theological  discussion  between  himself  and  Carew  and  Walter  Raleigh 

in  the  summer  of  1593.^  "From  Ironside's  account,"  says  Boas,^ 

"it  is  plain  that  Raleigh's  reputation  for  atheism  was  gained  by 

his  keen  and  critical  analysis  of  primary  religious  conceptions 

like  'God'  and  'the  soul.'  These  were  doubtless  the  methods  of 

controversy  employed  in  his  'school,'  and  daring  speculation 

on  such  lines  may  far  more  plausibly  be  attributed  to  Harriott 

and  Marlowe  than  the  crude  profanities  alleged  by  Baines."  Raleigh 

the  philosopher  was  certainly  as  adventurous  as  the  courtier  or 

sea-farer.  He  was  abreast  of  the  new  thought  of  his  day.  In  his 

History  of  the  World  he  quotes  from  Charron,  whose  book  De_  ^ 
o . 4 

Sagesse  was  first  published  in  1601.  His  posthumous  essay 
Sceptick  is  a fragmentary  account  of  some  of  the  tropes  of  the 

1_ 

This  letter,  discovered  by  Boas,  was  published  in  part  in  the 
Fortnightly  Review.  February,  1899,  p.  233.  The  "Atheist  lecture" 
was  probably  the  treatise  against  the  Trinity,  mentioned  by 
Vaughan  in  the  passage  quoted  above. 

^Discussed  by  J.  M.  Stone  in  Month  for  June,  1894,  and  by 
F.  S.  Boas  in  Literature . Nos.  147  and  148. 

^Boas,  Works  of  Kyd.  p.  Ixxiii. 

"^Jusserand,  Literary  History  of  the  English  People,  N.  Y.  (1909)  . 
522,  n.  2 . 


Greek  sceptics,  based  directly  on  Sextus  Empiricus.^  But  his 
study  of  these  sceptical  writers  had  no  traceable  influence  on 
his  ethical  ideals.  There  is  nowhere  in  his  work  any  such  protest 
against  convention  as  Donne  expressed  in  his  early  poetry;  quite 
the  contrary,  his  orthodox  feeling  in  matters  of^morality  and  the 
conduct  of  life  is  eloquent  and,  we  must  believe,  sincere.^  And 
whatever  may  have  been  his  questionings  in  the  days  of  Marlowe,  he 
showed  himself  at  the  end  of  his  life  capable  of  genuine  religious 
emotion  and  confessed  himself  a penitent  Christian  who  faced  death 
courageously  with  the  faith  of  a true  believer  as  his  support.  On 
account  of  his  past  reputation  as  an  atheist,  much  abuse  was 
heaped  on  him  during  his  trial  both  by  Coke  and  Chief  Justice 
Popham;  but  against  this  must  be  balanced  such  first-hand  informa- 
tion as  Sir  John  Harrington  conveyed  in  a letter  written  in  1603  to 
Dr.  Still,  Bishop  of  Bath  and  Wells; 


Remains  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh.  London  (1702) . pp. 93-105. 

Jusserand,  in  his  Literary  History  (III,  533,  n.3;,  speaks  of  this 
paper  as  an  original  treatise.  Upham  (French  Influence  in  English 
Literature . pp. 289-292)  derives  it  from  Montaigne.  I here  disagree 
with  these  authorities;  for  the  paper  follows  the  argument  of 
Sextus  too  closely  to  be  derived  from  Montaigne,  and  is  too  full 
to  be  taken  from  Diogenes  Laertius.  Raleigh  may  have  used  the 
edition  of  1562  published  by  Henri  Estienne;  but  there  are  traces 
of  an  English  translation,  nov?  lost,  which  may  have  been  known  to 
him.  In  1591  Nashe  wrote:  ”So  that  our  opinion  (as  Sextus 
E^mpiricus  affirmeth)  giues  the  name  of  good  or  ill  to  euery  thing. 
Out  of  whose  works  (late lie  translated  into  English,  for  the  bene- 
fit of  unlearned  writers)  a man  might  collect  a whole  booke  of  this 
argument.  . Works . ed.  MoKerrow,  III,  332.  Cf.  the  reference  to 
the  ’’Pironioks,  ” II,  116,  and  McKerrow's  discussion  of  other  borrow- 
ings from  Sextus,  IV,  428-ff. 

“^The  ethical  spirit  of  the  History  of  the  World  is  discussed  by 
Edwards  in  his  Life  of  Raleigh,  I,  538-41.  See  also  Raleigh's  I 

thorough  disapproval  of  Machiavelli  in  his  Maxims  of  State  in  I 

Remains . ed.  oit. 

3 I 

Edwards,  Life  of  Haleigh,  I,  432  and  436;  and  Jusserand,  op.  oit., 

Ill,  518,  n.2.  ! 


1 


105 


”I  doubt  not  but  sonio  stato  business  is  w^ell 
nigh  begun,  or  to  be  made  out;  but  these  matters 
pertain  not  to  me  now,  I much  fear  for  my  good  lord 
Grey  and  Raleigh,  I hear  the  plot  was  well  nigh 
accomplished  to  disturb  our  peace  and  favor 
Arabella  Stuart,  the  prince's  cousin.  The  Spaniards 
bear  no  good  will  to  Raleigh,  and  I doubt  if  some  of 
the  English  have  much  better  affection  toward  him: 

God  deliver  me  from  these  designs]  I have  spoken 
with  Carew  concerning  the  matter;  he  thinketh  ill 
of  certain  persons  whom  I know,  and  wisheth  he 
could  gain  knowledge  and  further  inspection  hereof 
touching  those  who  betrayed  this  business.  Cecil 
doth  bear  no  love  to  Raleigh,  as  you  well  understand 
in  the  matter  of  Essex.  I wist  not  that  he  hath  evii 
design  in  matter  of  faith  or  religion.  As  he  hath 
often  discoursed  to  me  with  much  learning,  wisdom 
and  freedom,  I know  he  doth  somewhat  differ  in 
opinion  from  some  others;  but  I think  also  his 
heart  is  well  fixed  in  every  honest  thing,  as 
far  as  I can  look  into  him.  He  seemeth  wondrously 
fitted,  both  by  art  and  nature  to  serve  the  state; 
especially  as  he  is  versed  in  foreign  matters,  his 
skill  therein  being  always  estimable  and  praise- 
worthy. In  religion  he  hath  shown  (in  private  talk) 
great  depth  and  good  reading,  as  I once  experienced 
at  his  own  house,  before  many  learned  men.  In  good 
troth,  I pity  his  state,  and  doubt  the  dice  not 
fairly  thrown,  if  his  life  be  the  losino*  stake  . 


,,1 


But  though  all  this  evidence  has  indicated  a sobriety  in 
the  thought  of  Marlowe  and  Raleigh  which  their  enemies  did  not 
credit  them  with,  yet  we  can  not  reject  the  blasphemous  remarks 
recorded  by  Baines  as  entirely  without  foundation.  There  were 
many  irreligious  witticisms  in  circulation  at  the  time,  and  Marlowe 
may  have  spoken  them  freely  among  his  intimates  during  their  carous- 
als. The  Bohemian! sm  of  the  time  was  a serious  enough  danger  to 
attract  attention.  Hooker  speaks  of  it  as  something  new. 

"Now  because  that  judicious  learning,"  he  says, 
in  his  discussion  of  atheism,  "for  which  we  commend 


^Nuga^  Anti quae . I,  340.  Quoted  in  Aikin's  Memoirs  of  the  Court 
ii  James  the  First,  London  (1822).  I,  240. 


• , [.^  , 

f ^ll^)l^•'}*h•\:  :'-r-  l:\  4^  ■ rf  C.nf.  : ■; jS'lSIi^ 

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106 


most  worthily  the  ancient  sages  of  the  world,  doth 
not  in  this  case  serve  the  turn,  these  trencher- 
mates  (for  such  the  most  of  them  be)  frame  to 
themselves  a way  more  pleasant;  a new  method  they 
have  of  turning  things  that  are  serious  into 
mockery,  an  art  of  contradiction  by  way  of  scorn, 
a learning  wherewith  we  were  long  sithence  fore- 
warned that  the  miserable  times  where  into  we  are 
fallen  should  abound.  This  they  study,  this  they 
practise,  this  they  grace  with  a wanton  super- 
fluity of  wit,  too  much  insulting  over  the  patience 
of  more  virtuously  disposed  minds. 


And  Bacon  places  among  his  four  reasons  for  the  spread  of  atheism, 
the  "custom  of  profane  scoffing  in  holy  matters,  which  doth,  by 
little  and  little,  deface  the  reverence  of  religion.”^  The 
Lucianic  and  Rabelaisian  strain  in  the  liberal  culture  of  the 
Renaissance  was  as  conspicuous  among  the  esprits  forts  of  London 
as  of  Paris,  and  Marlowe  was  probably  not  untouched  by  it. 

But  it  is  dangerous  to  rely  too  much  on  such  irreverent 
and  blasphemous  wit  for  our  conceptions  of  the  state  of  sceptical 
thought  in  the  sixteenth  century;  we  must  not  look  for  the 
intellectual  milieu  of  the  eighteenth  century  in  the  earlier  age. 

The  reputed  atheists  turn  out,  on  closer  examination,  to  be  anything 
but  atheists.  Marlowe,  we  find,  was  interested  in  a discourse  on 
the  nature  of  God,  as  revealed  by  Scripture;  Raleigh's  keen  and 
inquisitive  mind  faced  all  the  intellectual  problems  of  his  day, 
but  was  probably  never  even  thoroughly  Arian.  Bacon  said  that 
atheists  are  rare.  In  the  sixteenth  century,  certainly,  it  was  not 
easy  to  doubt  consistently  and  completely  the  doctrines  of 


Hooker,  Laws  of  Ecclesiastical  Polity.  Book 

II,  18. 

3 

Bacon,  Essays,  no.  xvi.  ed.  West,  p.  48. 


V, 


II,  2.  ed.  cit. 


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Christianity;  the  hazard  was  far  greater  than  today.  The  j 

unbeliever  of  that  tiine  did  not  occupy  such  an  impregnable  citadel 
as  has  been  constructed  for  the  modern  sceptic  by  science  and  the 
higher  criticism.  He  was  a wanderer  in  strange,  uncharted  lands, 
an  outlaw,  the  champion  of  a precarious  cause.  Many  a man  who  set 
out  with  a stout  heart,  had  misgivings  and  turned  back  before  he 
had  gone  very  far.  Antecedent  probability  was  against  him. 

Pascal's  gamble,  which  to  us  seems  merely  insincere  bargaining, 
was  to  him  a terrifying  dilemma.^ 

Moreover,  the  popular  mind  was  still  enveloped  in 
medieval  superstition.  Whatever  his  reason  may  have  told  him  in 
the  security  of  good  fellowship,  the  man  of  the  sixteenth  century 
was  instinctively  and  unavoidably  afraid  of  the  dark  when  alone. 

He  was  ridden  with  the  hagiclogy  and  thaumaturgy,  the  crudest 
anthropomorphic  conception  of  evil  spirits,  such  as  flourishes 
among  the  ignorant,  but  which  he  believed  on  the  learned  authority 
of  the  medieval  Christian  church.^  Even  when  his  reason  was  free, 
his  instinctive,  emotional  and  imaginative  life  was  still  in 

I 

bondage.  This  half-emancipation  from  medievalism  explains  many  of  I 

! 

the  sudden  conversions  of  Arians  after  being  arrested  and  threatened 
with  death.  It  is  the  paradox  of  Hamlet  — the  inconsistency 
between  the  great  soliloquy  and  the  previous  appearance  of  the 

_ This  explains  partly  the  ludicrous  ease  with  which  Euphues,  for 
instance,  is  able  to  convert  Atheos  in  Lyly's  story  (Works,  ed.  I 
291-ff.).  Atheos  is  not  convinced;  he  is  terrified.  j 

Lecky,  W.  E.  H.  Rise  and  Influence  of  Rationalism  in  Europe.  j 
brd  ed. , London  (1866) . I,  chap.  i.  On  Magic  and  Witchcraft. 

\ 


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108 


i 


I 
I 

ghost;  also  of  Faustus,  who  argues  with  the  devil  against  the  ! 

reality  of  hell.  In  no  great  creative  work  of  northern  Europe  is  I 
the  persistence  of  the  Middle  Ages  in  the  imaginative  life  of  the 
Renaissance  more  powerfully  depicted  than  in  Marlowe's  Faustus.  | 
The  Faust  legend  has  become,  since  Goethe,  S3nrbolical  of  the  j 

meeting  of  Medievalism  and  the  Renaissance;  it  has  acquireda  more  I 
philosophical  significance  than  it  could  have  had  for  Marlowe. 

But  Marlowe,  like  the  Lutheran  who  wrote  the  earlier  German  prose 
tale,  regarded  the  conjuring  of  Faustus  as  a denial  of  the  truths 
of  religion  for  the  sake  of  indulgence  in  the  aesthetic  and 
physical  life  of  the  senses;  Faust  was  the  popular,  ignorant, 
medieval  conception  of  the  educated,  pagan  type  of  the  Renaissance. 
Marlowe  makes  Faustus  a sceptic  and  a pagan  even  before  his  con- 
tract with  the  devil. 


Fau.  Did  not  my  coniuring  speeches  raise  thee?  speake. 

Me . That  was  the  cause,  but  yet  per  accident. 

For  when  we  he are  one  racke  the  name  of  God, 

Abiure  the  scriptures,  and  his  Sauiour  Christ, 

Y^ee  flye,  in  hope  to  get  his  glorious  soule. 

Nor  will  we  come,  vnlesse  he  vse  such  means s 
Whereby  he  is  in  danger  to  be  damnd: 

Therefore  the  shortest  cut  for  coniuring 
Is  stoutly  to  abiure  the  Trinitie, 

And  pray  deuoutly  to  the  prince  of  hell. 

Fau.  So  Faustus  hath 
Already  done,  & holds  this  principle. 

There  is  no  chiefs  but  onely  Belsibub. 

To  whom  Faustus  doth  dedicate  himselfe. 

This  word  damnation  terrifies  not  him. 

For  he  confounds  hell  in  Elizium. 

His  ghost  be  with  the  old  Philosophers.^ 

But  if  Faustus  began  as  a sceptic,  he  died  a firm  believer,  con- 
verted by  his  terrified  imagination.  The  moral  of  the  play,  as  the 


^Wor^  of  Marlowe,  ed.  Brooke, Tucker,  Oxford  (191C)  . pp.  154-5.  | 

— i 


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Chorus  informs  us,  is  not  to  wander  beyond  the  prescribed  bounds*  I 
and  into  the  powerful  conclusion,  lit  up  here  and  there  by  flashes  | 
of  insight  which  suggest  even  to  the  modern  reader  that  the  conflict 
within  Faustus  involves  something  more  than  superstition  — into 
this  conclusion  Marlowe  put  the  doubt,  the  terror,  the  sensitiveness 
to  the  Medieval  world  as  well  as  to  the  Renaissance,  from  which  as 
yet  even  the  best  minds  were  not  free. 

If  we  remember  this  hold  of  Medievalism  on  the  intellect 
and  imagination  of  even  the  "emancipated"  Englishman  of  the 
Renaissance,  we  shall  not  make  the  error,  in  looking  back  over  the 
sceptical  developments  in  the  England  of  the  sixteenth  century,  of 
expecting  to  find  the  serene,  hard,  materialistic  and  sensual 
unbelief  of  Italy. ^ Scepticism  was  too  new,  too  foreign,  and 
encountered  too  much  opposition  in  England  to  run  its  course  so 
quickly;  its  full  development  belongs  to  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries.  But  we  have  found  in  the  sixteenth  century 
a universal  awakening  of  a moderate  sceptical  spirit.  Early  in  the 
century  Arianism  was  wide-spread,  a doubt  as  to  the  Trinity  and  the 
divinity  of  Christ,  combined  with  a devout  belief  in  God;  this 
Arianism  was  repressed  by  the  writ  ^ haeretico  comburendo.  but  it 
could  never  be  extinguished;  and  towards  the  end  of  the  century  it 
was  reinforced  by  the  paganism  of  Italy,  a new  culture  which  tended 
to  liberate  the  imagination  from  Medievalism,  and  therefore  often  j 
took  the  form  of  scoffing,  even  of  blasphemy;  finally,  we  have 

Cf.  Symonds,  Shakespeare's  Predecessors.  London  (190S).  pp.  507-ff! 
Lee,  Vernon,  Euphorion.  London  (1899).  The  Italv  of  the  ! 

Elizabethan  Dramatists,  pp.  55-108. 


■s .'; 


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^ ...  ..  ,.  •'-  ••■'■’  . . ^ 


...,  ,r*f2*5'4«“p  ■■■'^■''■-  - ' ' 


noted  traces  of  a new  philosophical  activity,  a study  of  Greek 
scepticism  in  Sextus  Empiricus.  The  study  of  these  intellectual 
forces  and  sceptical  tendencies  helps  us  to  form  a more  definite 
conception  of  the  "atheism”  of  Marlowe  and  Raleigh.  Although  we 
can  probably  never  know  precisely  how  far  their  scepticism  dared  to 
go,  the  presumption  must  be,  especially  as  regards  Raleigh,  that  it 
never  became  a complete  atheism;  Marlowe  may  have  spoken  without 
restraint  whatever  irreverent  thoughts  occurred  to  him  over  his 
cups,  and  in  the  hectic  state  of  the  time  such  remarks  were  likely 
to  assume  an  exaggerated  importance;  and  as  for  the  serious -minded 
Raleigh,  it  is  unlikely  that  his  reputed  "atheism"  was  more  than 
that  Arianism  which  had  so  constantly  kept  reappearing  and  troubling 
the  ecclesiastics  of  the  sixteenth  century.  Raleigh  was  one  of  the 
most  notable  representatives  of  the  enlightenment  and  emancipatory 
spirit  of  his  age;  but  this  whole  process  of  emancipation,  as  we 
have  seen,  was  related  to  the  Reformation  as  well  as  to  the 
Renaissance;  and  liberal  thought  in  England,  from  Golet  to  Raleigh 
was  in  general  marked  by  seriousness  and  an  awareness  of  the  ethical 
and  religious  needs  of  human  nature.  In  short,  the  sceptical  || 

tendencies  in  England  in  the  sixteenth  century  partook  of  the  1 

individualism  of  the  Renaissance  and  Reformation,  of  the  dissenting 
spirit  of  the  native  of  Britain,  of  his  ethical  temper,  and  of  the 
paganism  of  Italian  culture.  The  sixteenth  century  was  a period  of 
many  and  complex  beginnings;  and  in  these  various  manifestations 
of  the  sceptical  temper,  we  have  the  beginnings  in  English 
literature  and  life,  of  the  modern  intellect  and  imagination. 


*T. 


Bi'-*.- V \ ^ v:i:^v»pra 


'v^ 


CHAPTER  THREE 


SCEPTICISM  AND  NATURALISM  IN  DONNE'S  EARLY  VERSE 

I.  The  Sceptical  Thought  of  Donne.-  II.  The  Stoic  Formula- 
tion of  the  Law  of  Nature.-  III.  A Renaissance  Discussion 
of  the  Law  of  Nature.-  IV.  The  "Libertine"  Anpeal  to  Nature. 

V.  Scepticism  and  Naturalism  in  Montaigne.-  VI . Continuations 
in  the  Seventeenth  Century. 

Few  subjects  of  biography  are  more  fascinating  than  John 
Donne.  A man  of  the  Renaissance,  aristocratic,  fastidious,  distin- 
guished not  only  for  his  great  talents  but  for  a unique  and  rare 
poetic  nature,  and  ambitious  for  a secular  career,  Donne  closed  the 
doors  to  promotion  by  his  secret  marriage;  and  after  years  of 
privation  and  anxiety,  he  took  orders  and  became  in  his  last  years 
one  of  England's  greatest  and  most  saintly  divines.  The  apparent 
inconsistency  in  the  career  of  the  man  who  wrote  the  Elegies  as 
well  as  the  Hymn  to  God  the  Father,  only  entices  one  the  more  to 
penetrate,  if  possible,  into  the  innermost  secret  of  his  develop- 

I! 

ment.  However  elusive  it  may  be,  one  feels  that  there  must  be  |i 

some  principle  of  continuity  in  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  j 

history  of  Donne,  some  deeper  impulse  or  characteristic  which  | 

manifested  itself  in  diverse  ways.  The  ten  years  before  his 
marriage,  of  London  life.  Continental  travel  and  sea  adventure, 
years  filled  with  "the  queasy  pain  of  being  beloved  and  loving,"^ 
as  well  as  with  "the  worst  voluptuousness,  which  is  an  hydrontic, 

i 

^Donne,  John,  Tl^  Calm.  11.  40-41. 


112j 

i; 

n ! 

immoderate  desire  of  human  learning  and  languages”,  must  have  some 

significance  even  in  a study  of  the  preacher  and  religious  poet.  To  I 

the  solution  of  this  difficult  and  delicate  problem,  ignored  by  | 

his  first  biographer,  Walton,  modern  scholarship  has  made  imoortant  1 

contributions. 

The  most  striking  quality  of  Donne’s  earlier  poems  is 
their  scepticism.  Courthope  has  noted  in  this  connection  the 
"Pyrrhonism”  of  the  Renaissance  in  general,  and  attempted  to  explain 
by  reference  to  it  the  peculiar  style  of  the  metaphysical  poets. ^ 

He  devoted  several  pages  also  to  showing  that  Donne  was  in  his 
youth  a "sceptic  in  religion"  and  a "revolutionist  in  love."^  But 
Courthope  saw  no  connection  between  the  scepticism  of  Donne’s  youth 
and  his  later  career;  he  seems  to  regard  Donne’s  marriage  as  bring- 
ing about  a complete  change  of  heart  and  a break  with  his  mental 
past.  Grierson,  however,  thinks  that  "the  truth  is  rather  that, 
owing  to  the  fullness  of  Donne’s  experience  as  a lover,  the  accident 
that  made  of  the  earlier  libertine  a devoted  lover  and  husband,  and 
from  the  play  of  hie  restless  and  subtle  mind  on  the  phenomenon  of 
love  conceived  and  realized  in  this  less  ideal  fashion,  there  I 

emerged  in  his  poetry  the  suggestion  of  a new  philosophy  of  love  i 

Jfhich,  if  less  transcendental  than  that  of  Dante,  rests  on  a juster, 
because  a less  dualistic  and  ascetic,  conception  of  the  nature  of  I 
the  love  of  man  and  woman. Of  Donne’s  early  scepticism,  likewise, 

T ' s letter  to  Sir  H.  Goodyer,  in  Gosse’s  Life  and  Letters  of  I 

John  Donne.  London  (1899).  I,  191.  j 

gCourthope,  Hist,  of  Eng.  Poetry.  Ill,  147-8. 

^Op.  cit.  Ill,  150-156. 

Donne ’ s Poetical  Works,  ed.  Grierson.  II,  xxxv. 


CVS.* 


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Grierson  finds  a continued  influence  in  his  mature  poetic  effort, 
represented  hy  the  Anniversaries,  and  even  in  his  manner  of  accept- 
ing Anglicanism  after  he  had  taken  orders.^ 

Grierson's  general  conception  of  the  life  of  Donne  seems 
to  me  to  be  the  juster,  and  my  own  studies  are  in  the  main  a 
corroboration  of  it.  In  another  chapter  I shall  discuss,  more 
fully  than  Grierson  has  done,  the  significance  of  the  sceptical 
strain  in  Donne's  religious  development.  The  present  chapter  will 
be  confined  to  a study  of  the  youthful  Donne  as  a "revolutionist 
in  love,"  to  a more  thorough  analysis  than  has  yet  been  presented 
of  his  audacious  and  singularly  modern  philosophy  of  that  subject, 
and  a discussion  of  some  similar  developments  of  thought  in  the 
Renaissance  with  which  Donne  may  have  been  acquainted. 

I 

The  Sceptical  Thought  of  Donne 

A whole  class  of  Donne's  Songs  and  Sonnets  is  devoted  to 
witty  exposition  of  the  belief  that  inconstancy  is  the  only  constant 
element  in  love.  Paradox  and  hyperbole  seem  inexhaustible  to  this 
adroit,  gay  and  heart-whole  cynic,  and  nowhere  in  Donne's  work  do 
they  seem  more  appropriate  to  the  tone  and  subject  of  the  verse. 

As  we  open  the  volume  we  come  almost  at  the  beginning  upon  the 
celebration  of  this  idea  in  a Song.  Search  the  world  for  its 
wonders,  runs  the  burden  of  this  "song,"  and  when  you  return  you 

^Op.  cit.  II,  187-8  and  335-6.  ! 


i 


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115 

stancy  in  her  lover  are  overheard  by  Venus,  who  indignantly 
investigates  and  chastises  these  "poor  heretics" 

"Which  thinke  to  stablish  dangerous  constancie . 

That  this  inconstant  love  is  mere  ranging  physical  appetite,  he 
frankly  recognizes  in  Loves  Usury. ^ But  Donne  does  not  for  that 
reason  condemn  it;  quite  the  contrary,  his  appeal  is  ever  to  Nature 
for  the  justification  of  a frankly  sensual  conception  of  love.  He 
draws  a frequent  parallel  between  love  and  the  other  appetites,  or 
between  the  habits  of  mankind  and  beasts  — or  nature.  Thus  in 
Confined  Love  he  asks, 

"Are  Sunne,  Moone,  or  Starres  by  law  forbidden. 

To  smile  where  they  list,  or  lend  away  their  light? 

Are  birds  divorc'd,  or  are  they  chidden 
If  they  leave  their  mate,  or  lie  abroad  a night? 

Beasts  do  no  joyntures  lose 
Though  they  new  lovers  choose. 

But  we  are  made  worse  then  those. 

In  the  third  Elegy,  called  Change . he  develops  the  same  idea  with 
less  hyperbole  and  gayety.  Donne  is  not  here  putting  his  clever- 
ness to  a test,  but  rather  seriously  examining  the  philosophy  of 
Change  and  pronouncing  it  true. 

"Waters  stincke  soone,  if  in  one  place  they  bide, 

And  in  the  vast  sea  are  more  putrifi'd: 

But  when  they  kisse  one  banke,  and  leaving  this 
Never  looke  backe,  but  the  next  banke  doe  kisse, 

Then  are  they  purest;  Change  is  the  nursery 
Of  musicke,  joy,  life,  and  eternity."^ 

To  Donne,  says  Courthope,  "love,  in  its  infinite  variety  and  incon-  j 
sistenoy,  represented  the  principle  of  perpetual  flux  in  Nature."^ 


JDonne,  ed.  cit.  I,  13. 
gidem,  I,  13. 

^Idem.  I,  36.  Cf.  Communitie.  p.  32;  and  Farewell  to  love.nt).  70-1. 
gidem.  I,  83.  

Courthope,  Hist . of  Eng.  Poetry . Ill,  154. 


But  Courthope's  statement  of  the  theories  of  this 
revolutionist  is  incomplete.  For  this  conception  of  inconstancy- 
in  love  as  natural  and  normal  is  not  alone  an  adequate  statement 
of  Donne's  thought,  nor  is  it  sufficient  to  indicate  Donne's 
relation  to  the  currents  of  thought  in  the  Renaissance.  Donne's 
Naturalism  can  not  be  understood  apart  from  his  Scepticism,  which 
makes  it  possible.  His  appeal  to  Nature  as  a guide  and  norm  is  a 
substitute,  as  he  himself  makes  very  clear,  for  the  authority  of 
society  and  its  accepted  code  of  morality,  which  he  calls  "Custom" 
and  "Opinion."  He  suggests  humorously  what  we  should  call  a 
Nietzschean  explanation  of  the  social  code: 

"Some  man  unworthy  to  be  possessor 
Of  old  or  new  love,  himselfe  being  false  or  weake. 

Thought  his  paine  and  shame  would  be  lesser. 

If  on  womankind  he  might  his  anger  wreake, 

And  thence  a law  did  grow, 

One  might  but  one  man  know; 

But  are  other  creatures  so?"^ 

He  repeats  and  amplifies  this  sceptical  theory  in  Elegie  XVII. 
Variety: 

”How  happy  were  our  Syres  in  ancient  times. 

Who  held  plurality  of  loves  no  crime’ 

With  them  it  was  accounted  charity 
To  stirre  up  race  of  all  indifferently; 

Kindreds  were  not  exempted  from  the  bands: 

Which  with  the  Persian  still  in  usage  stands. 

Women  were  then  no  sooner  asked  then  won, 

And  what  they  did  was  honest  and  well  done. 

But  since  this  title  honour  hath  been  us'd. 

Our  weake  credulity  hath  been  abus'd; 

The  golden  laws  of  nature  are  repeal'd, 

Wiich  our  first  Fathers  in  such  reverence  held; 

Our  liberty's  revers'd,  our  Charter’s  gone. 

And  we're  made  servants  to  opinion, 

A monster  in  no  certain  shape  attir'd. 

And  whose  originall  is  much  desir'd, 

Formlesse  at  first,  but  goeing  on  it  fashions. 


^Donne,  ed.  cit.  I,  36. 


r,  • ...  ■ftHf.t- %yxm<ti^'  !P>*II 


v„*»aa' 


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■ aisai  • r=>.nAt»^ 


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j.  -~ 


And  doth  prescribe  manners  and  laws  to  nations. 

Here  love  receiv'd  immedicable  harmes. 

And  was  dispoiled  of  his  daring  armes  . . 

Only  some  few  strong  in  themselves  and  free 
Retain  the  seeds  of  antient  liberty, 

Following  that  part  of  Love  although  deprest, 

And  make  a throne  for  him  within  their  brest. 

In  spight  of  modern  censures  him  avowing 
Their  Soveraigne,  all  service  him  allowing."^ 

The  whole  thought  of  this  passage  is  based  on  the  contrast  and 
opposition  between  the  "golden  laws  of  Nature"  and  "opinion,"  which 
"prescribes  manners  and  laws  to  nations."  Donne  has  somewhere  come 
in  contact  with  a sceptical  and  relativist  philosophy  and  been 
profoundly  impressed  by  it.  He  recurs  to  it  at  the  conclusion 
of  his  satire  The  Progresse  of  the  Soule: 


"There's  nothing  simply  good,  nor  ill  alone. 

Of  every  quality  comparison, 

The  onely  measure  is,  and  judge,  opinion."^ 

In  these  light  and  cynical  poems  of  the  young  student 
and  courtier,  what  is  significant  for  our  purposes  is  not  so  much 
their  tone  as  their  constantly  recurring  ideas  — we  may  even  say, 
doctrines.  Whether  Donne  would  ever  at  any  time  have  been  willing 
to  write  a learned  defense  of  them  is  somewhat  beside  our  purpose j 
for  whether  he  held  them  seriously  or  not,  they  certainly 
fascinated  him,  and  they  give  us  a clue  as  to  some  unsuspected 
lines  of  study  and  thinking  of  the  young  man  who,  according  to 
Walton,  was  reading  Bellarmine  in  his  preparation  for  a decision 
between  Catholicism  and  Anglicanism.  For  these  poems,  grave  and 
gay,  are  learned;  their  sceptical  reflections  are  the  fruit  of  stucfy 


^Idem.  I,  114-5.  Compare  The  Progresse  of  the  Soule,  stanzas 
XX  and  xxi. 

"^Idem.  I,  316. 


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A re-statement  of  the  principles  involved  will  show 
more  clearly  the  doctrinal  nature  of  this  revolutionary  poetry. 

At  least  three  such  principles  may  be  distinctly  formulated: 
First,  love  is  a purely  physical  relation,  an  appetite;  second, 
its  justification  is  Natural  Law  — not  the  universal  Law  of 
Nature,  Jus  naturals , which  was  then  usually  understood  to  be  the 
basis  of  the  moral  code,  but  the  "natural"  condition  of  liberty, 
of  change,  the  "natural"  freedom  from  the  restraints  of  society; 
third,  the  restraints  of  society  have  no  justification;  the 
social  code,  which  pretends  to  absolute  validity  and  rightness, 
is  merely  the  result  of  custom,  and  its  sacredness  is  merely 
"opinion. " 

John  Donne  was  learned  in  the  law,  and  he  knew  well 
that  he  was  reversing  the  theory  of  the  Law  of  Nature,  Jus 
naturale . the  fundamental  and  central  doctrine  of  political 
thought  and  social  ethics  in  Europe  from  the  Stoics  and  Cicero 
through  the  Renaissance.  And  when  Donne  expressed  his  sceptical 
ideas  in  verse,  his  readers  must  have  been  aware  of  his  audacity; 
no  doubt  they  derived  some  degree  of  pleasure  from  observing  the 
ingenuity  of  Donne,  precisely  because  they  knew  his  attack  was 
.-directed  against  a great  tradition.  It  must  be  part  of  our  excuse 
for  a long  examination  of  this  tradition,  that  after  our  study  we 
shall  better  appreciate  the  play  of  John  Donne’s  wit. 


,;vi  •fiw-vs;7i'?:^.;s-' -si" ' •*■'; . >'^gfeSe5?» 


?:,  iif  ^'v,sigf-*^-^p;  n f 


'%  65^'''*#;  A jit  <♦' 


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■ v''^yaiK£''" 


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119 


II 


The  Stoic  Formulation  of  the  Law  of  Nature 


It  is  impossible,  and  fortunately  unnecessary,  to  give 
here  a history  of  the  concept  of  Natural  Law  in  the  philosophy  of 
politics,  of  morals,  and  of  religion.  The  literature  on  the  sub- 
ject is  extensive.^  What  is  here  attempted  is  merely  a sketch  of 
some  of  the  main  developments  of  it  in  ancient  and  medieval  thought, 
so  as  to  explain  the  importance  and  general  application  of  the 
theory  of  the  Law  of  Nature  in  the  Renaissance.  At  the  same  time, 

I shall  briefly  discuss  certain  sceptical  theories  which  appeared 
both  in  antiquity  and  the  Middle  Ages,  philosophies  of  revolt  and 
individualism,  which,  of  little  consequence  perhaps  in  their  own 
day,  produced  a more  plentiful  crop  in  the  fertile  seed-bed  of 
the  Renaissance. 

Natural  Law  as  the  basis  of  ethics  was  first  taught  by 
the  Stoics.  They  felt  the  inadequacy  of  the  theory  of  the 
Epicureans,  that  pleasure,  refined  and  temperate  perhaps,  but 
nevertheless  pleasure,  voluptas.  is  the  final  and  supreme  value  in 
life.  It  is  inadequate  even  to  justify  the  moral  conduct  of 
Epicurus  himself,  who  died  happy  in  spite  of  all  his  bodily  pain.^ 


Voigt,  Moritz,  Die  Lehre  vom  jus  naturals . aequum  et  bonum  und 
£g.pt ium  der  Rome r . 4 vols.,  Leipzig(1856) ; Janet,  Paul.Histoire 
^ la  Science  P_qlitique,  4th  ed. , Paris (1913) ; Gierke,  Otto. Political 
ihe pries  of  tM  Middle  Age,  trans.  Maitland,  Cambridge  (1900) ; 


Figgis,  J.N.,  From  Person  to  Grotius.  Cambridge (1907 f;  Dunning, W. A . , 
history  pf^  Political  Theories.  Ancient  and  Medieval.  N.Y.  (1903); 

\ ’ andA.J.,  History  of  Medieval  Political  Theory.  n!y. 
U903-16) ; Troeltsch,  Ernst,  Das  stoischchristliche  Naturrecht  und 
mpderne  profane  Naturreoht.  Historische  Zeitschrift.  voT  TOfi 
(1911),  237-367. 

_^Cioero.  Da.  Finlbna.  RonV  n.  30. 


IT'-U’  , . . 1^’  -^.  ir>'>/^ir/Ar  ' • 

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120  I 

The  Stoics  could  see  in  this  doctrine  of  "pleasure”  only  caldalatinf 

utilitarianism,  selfish  hedonism,  and  a dangerous  and  degrading 

blunting  of  the  moral  sense.  They  charged  the  Epicureans  with 

reducing  virtue  to  craftiness,  and  morality  to  skill  in  supplying 

oneself  with  bodily  satisfactions.  The  Stoics,  to  their  merit, 

kept  themselves  ever  aware  of  the  universal  and  imperative  nature 

of  the  ethical  sense,  and,  scorning  the  moral  anarchy  which  they 

pointed  out  in  Epicurean  thought,  tenaciously  held  that  virtue  is 

its  own  justification  and  the  chief  aim  of  every  wise  man.^ 

Virtue,  then,  the  Stoics  taught,  is  founded  on  such 

principles  as  constitute  the  eternal  and  iirmutable  Law  of  Nature. 

All  good  men  obey  this  Law,  the  wicked  ignore  it;  but  he  who 

violates  it,  violates  his  own  nature  and  suffers  inevitably  the 

most  severe  penalties,  even  though  he  escape  unpunished  by  the 

state.  This  Law  is  clear  to  all,  — written  in  our  own  nature.  It 

needs  no  expositor  or  interpreter.  No  senate  or  people  can 

abrogate  it;  nor  does  it  vary  from  one  country  to  another,  but  in 

Rome,  in  Athens,  to-day  and  to-morrow  and  forever,  this  law  remains, 

2 

one  and  eternal  and  immutable.  Justice  is  but  an  expression  of 
this  Law  of  Nature.  The  authority  of  law  is  therefore  not  derived 
from  the  edict  of  the  praetor  or  from  the  Twelve  Tables,  but  is 
that  highest  reason,  innate  in  our  nature,  which  prescribes  what 
we  must  do  and  warns  us  against  the  contrary.^ 

On  the  one  side,  therefore,  the  Stoics  defended  the 
validity  of  the  moral  judgment  against  the  Epicureans;  but  they 


elaborate  refutation  of  Epicurean  ethics  in  De  Finibus. 
Dgok  II,  is  based  on  Stoic  doctrine. 

^Lactantius,  Div.  Inst.  VI,  8;  Cicero,  De  Re  Publica.  III.  22. 
Cicero,  Legibus.  Book  I,  5-6. 


jrm-  - r 


iLMJi'X-  '■('  ■ • Jj  ’'  '■'  ‘.r  ■■‘‘  .*■:  •■  .w,  ;-i<  •'•.<  ^ 


%<>%■..  $ii 


121 


also  had  to  contend  on  the  other  with  the  Sceptics.  Cicero,  whom 
we  have  been  following  in  our  exposition  of  these  philosophical 
conflicts  of  antiquity,  shared  with  the  Stoics  their  antipathy 
for  both  schools.  His  comments  on  the  Sceptics,  although  come 
down  to  us  in  rather  fragmentary  form,  are  nevertheless  sufficient 
for  our  purpose.  They  make  it  clear  enough  that  Cicero  had  little 
regard  for  the  philosophy  which  denied  that  truth  is  attainable, 
and  which  above  all,  maintained  that  we  can  not  be  sure  what  virtue 
and  justice  is,  but  can  at  best  resignedly  take  custom  for  our 
guide.  There  is  no  subject,  he  says,  generally  discussed  by  the 
learned,  more  important  to  understand  thoroughly  than  that  we  are 
born  for  justice,  and  that  law  is  established,  not  by  "opinion," 
but  by  "nature."^  To  think  that  the  difference  between  virtue  and 
vice  resides  in  opinion  only,  and  not  in  nature,  is  idiotic.^  It 
is  imperative  that  the  "good”  should  be  something  praise vforthy  in 
itself.  Goodness  is  not  a matter  of  opinion,  but  of  nature.  For 
it  would  be  absurd  to  say  that  happiness  is  merely  the  effect  of 
opinion;  ethical  questions  must  be  referred  for  solution  to  the 
deepest  and  firmest  principles,  the  Law  of  Nature.^  None  of  the 
sceptical  philosophers  is  mentioned  more  often  by  Cicero  than 
Carneades,  who  first  brought  the  Greek  sceptical  philosophy  to  Rome 

Cicero,  Da  Le gibus . I,  10.  "Sed  omnium,  quae  in  hominum  doctorum 
disputations  versantur,  nihil  est  profecto  praestabilius,  quam 
plane  intellegi,  nos  ad  iustitiam  esse  natos,  neque  opinions, sed 
natura  constitutum  esse  ius." 

Dg_  Legibus.  1,16.  Haec  autem  in  opinions  existimare,  non  in 

T1  T*A  *riPiGS+*.  a noo  m 4*  S a 00  + 


122 

with  such  hrillia.1106  and.  scandal  in  the  year  158,  Cicero’s  siumnary 
of  his  philosophy  has  been  preserved  by  Lactantius,  and  gives  in  a 
paragraph  the  tone  and  doctrine  of  the  Sceptics:  Men  have  estab- 

lished laws  among  themselves,  Carneades  said,  merely  because  of 
their  utility,  and  therefore  have  varied  them  from  time  to  time, 
as  well  as  from  country  to  country.  But  no  universal  principle 
underlies  them  — there  is  no  Law  of  Nature.  There  is  another 
"nature”  than  the  Stoics  referred  to,  which  guides  all  m.en  and 
other  animals  to  their  own  advantage.  But  this  "nature"  does  not 
teach  men  that  justice  is  the  end  and  aim  of  life;  for  there  is  no 
justice.  If  there  were,  a man  might  seek  the  welfare  of  others 
to  his  own  detriment,  which  would  be  the  extremest  folly. ^ 

The  Sceptics,  therefore,  agreed  with  the  Epicureans  in 
denying  the  ethical  sense,  or  moral  judgment.  But  whereas  the 
Epicureans  established  the  dogmatism  of  pleasure  as  an  end,  the 
Sceptics  taught  that  the  final  aim  and  value  of  life  is  unknowable, 
and  that  we  can  at  best  accept  an  unphilosophical  utilitarianism 
or  the  custom  of  the  country  as  our  best  guides  in  conduct.  The 
social  code,  said  the  Sceptics,  has  no  basis  in  absolute  right  or 
justice,  or  in  Nature  conceived  as  universal  reason,  but  is  the 
varying  creation  of  man,  the  sacredness  of  which  is  mere  "opinion." 

1 

Carneades  summa  disputationis  haec  fuit:  lura  sibi  homiines  pro 

utilitate  sanxisse,  scilicet  varia  pro  moribes,  et  apud  eosdem 
pro  temporibus  saepe  mutata;  ius  autem  naturale  esse  nullum. 

Omnes  et  homines  et  alias  animantes  ad  utilitates  suas  natura 
ducente  ferri;  proinde  aut  nullam.  esse  iustitiam.,  aut  si  sit 
aliqua,  summam  esse  stultitiam,  quoniam  sibi  noceret,  alienis 
commodis  consulent.  Lactantius,  Div.  Inst.  V.  16:  Cicero.  De  Re 
Publica.  Ill,  12. 


123 


1 *■ 

j 

In  the  philosophical  debate  which  is  briefly  summarized 
in  these  passages  from  Cicero,  the  theory  of  the  Law  of  Nature 
was  developed  and  its  terminology  fixed  for  centuries.^  Certain 
analogies  are  already  observable  with  the  ideas  with  which  Donne 

was  occupied  when  he  wrote  his  early  verse.  We  have  in  ancient 

I 

J scepticism  the  same  disrespect  for  the  social  code,  the  same 

i reference  to  ^opinion."  But  we  note  also  in  Donne  a difference  in 

I ] -■  the  conception  of  Nature;  he  refers  constantly  to  nature,  not  as  a 

I I source  of  such  universal  and  rational  principles  as  should  check 
i 

, or  guide  desires,  but  as  the  justification  of  individual  desires, 
i J as  the  denial  of  all  universal  moral  law.  This  degraded  conception 
; of  "nature"  is  only  faintly  foreshadowed  in  the  use  of  the  term 
' ; "nature"  by  Carneades  in  the  passage  cited  above;  it  was  not  a 

li 

j ■ development  of  ancient  thought.  We  shall  find  something  similar 
to  it  in  the  later  Middle  Ages,  and  several  analogous  developments 
j , in  the  Renaissance. 

B III 

A Renaissance  Discussion  of  the  Law  of  Nature 

Dissent  from  the  doctrine  of  the  Law  of  Nature  became, 
however,  a far  more  difficult  and  serious  matter  in  the  Middle  Ages 
; and  the  Renaissance  than  in  the  centuries  between  Plato  and  Cicero. 

The  ancient  Sceptics  had  contended  only  with  professional  rivals, 
i though  even  so  they  had  a dubious  reputation,  especially  amid  the 


^For 

cit. 


an  account  of  the  .jus  naturale  before  Cicero, 
I,  76-212. 


see 


i 


Voigt,  op. 


p, ' v-y.ii  ^ • ,:.  i., 


■/■'•  - % 

*‘P''  '-i..  . •'  ^.S 


^ w T^'  '^v  .\r* 


.«f^'  «r  ^ ■. .-  • iiv',', , ii;-ji  <J,»(i-  «(!l.r  j 


134  I 

f 

unspeculative  respectability  of  the  Roman  republic.  But  after 

Cicero  the  theory  of  the  Law  of  Nature  was  elaborated  by  Seneca,  the  I 

I 

Roman  Jurists  of  the  Empire,  the  early  Christian  Fathers,  and  St.  j 

j 

Augustine,  until  at  last  the  encyclopedic  mind  of  Thomas  Aquinas 
combined  the  vague  and  often  conflicting  ideas  of  his  many 
predecessors  into  one  all-embracing  system  which  dominated  specula- 
tion on  the  subject  in  the  following  centuries.  With  all  this  dis- 
cussion the  idea  grew  in  importance,  until  in  the  Renaissance  it 
was  regularly  appealed  to  as  the  basic  principle  in  law,  in  ethics, 
in  natural  theology,  — in  short,  as  the  one  philosophical  defense 
of  the  worthiest  and  most  ideal  elements  of  civilization.  The  Law 
of  Nature  thus  became  a conservative  and  stabilizing  doctrine  in 
Renaissance  thought,  a bulwark  against  excessive  individualism, 
whether  in  the  form  of  tyranny  on  the  one  hand  or  of  absolute  an- 
archy on  the  other.  "It  is  not  an  accident,"  says  Figgis,  "that 
men  like  Machiavelli,  and  Hobbes,  whose  aim  is  to  remove  all 
restraints  from  the  action  of  rulers  except  those  of  expediency, 
should  be  agreed  in  denying  all  meaning  to  the  idea  of  natural  law."^ 
Bodin,  on  the  contrary,  who  was  the  greatest  opponent  in  the 

I 

Renaissance  of  the  political  thought  of  Machiavelli,  based  his  | 

whole  philosophy  on  the  orthodox  tradition.^  The  relation  of  ! 

natural  law  to  political  ethics  was  therefore  an  important  crux  in 
the  thought  of  the  Renaissance,  the  meeting  point  of  Machiavellianisa 

gFiggis,  op.  oit.,  p.8. 

Dunning,  From  Luther  to  Montesquieu,  p.85.  Also  Baudri Hart, Henri, 
J^  Bodin  et  son  Temps , Paris  (18^).  pp.  222-ff.  On  the  same  differ^ 
ence  between  Machiavelli  and  Grotius,  see  Figgis,  op.  oit.,  p.83. 


) 

I 


i 


liFl 

and  other  forms  of  "libertine”  thought  with  tradition  and  conser- 
vatism, reinforced  by  the  general  revival  of  Stoicism.  As  a 
consequence,  two  camps  were  formed,  those  who  adhered  to  traditional 
thought  and  affirmed  the  existence  of  a Law  of  Nature,  and  those 
who  were  sceptical  and  leaned  towards  various  forms  of  anarchic 
individualism. 

With  this  brief  statement  of  the  situation  in  mind,  we 
may  examine  a aocument  of  the  English  Renaissance,  which  summarizes 
the  theory  of  the  Law  of  Nature  and  defends  it  against  sceptical 
attacks,  a passage  in  an  imaginary  dialog*ue  between  Cardinal  Pole 
and  Sir  Thomas  Lupset,  written  about  1536  or  1538  by  Thomas  Starkey, 
but  unpublished  until  the  nineteenth  century.^  Starkey,  who 
occupied  a position  at  court  as  chaplain  and  as  confidential  agent 
of  Henry  VIII  in  his  negotiations  with  Cardinal  Pole,  had  acquired 
a thorough  humanistic  education,  having  studied,  according  to  his 
own  account,  philosophy,  Latin  and  Greek  at  Oxford,  and  "natural 
Knowledge,”  divinity  and  civil  law  for  several  years  in  Italy. ^ His 
discussion  of  the  Law  of  Nature  is  therefore  to  be  accepted  as 
authoritative  and  representative,  and  both  his  ideas  and  terminology 
are  worth  close  scrutiny. 

Lupset  is  mads  the  expositor  of  the  ideas  of  the  author, 
whereas  the  Cardinal  is  given  the  ungrateful  role  of  advooatus  | 

^aboli,  urging  the  objections  that  have  to  be  met  at  each  step. 

The  dialogue  opens  with  Lupset  advising  Pole  to  apply  his  learning 
andtalents  to  the  assistance  of  the  commonwealth.  Pole  first  takes 

_^En^aM  in  the  Reign  of  King  Henrv  the  Eighth,  ed.  J.M.  Cowner. 
E^E.T.S.,  London  nSTS). 

Letter  to  Cromwell,  quoted  in  Introduction,  p.x. 


J 


''r 


,v  .,  ^ ...  ^ 


“ i ;i 


mm,  ' X-?^: 

■ ■^4  Rtii-i&jsxY 

Ti  • ^ ■ . ....X:..i  ;■’ 4'-  ^\.C'‘‘  'i-i: 


I *"^^(8^  ' * * ► L -‘f  .'  .'  '*  ■•*  ^ '■  ^ ■*** . ' V • j%  '■  ® ' 'jiV%'  ^ A>t^ .. w 


V'  "V  ■*.•».' 3-  -.'  • •'  **  ■V*'l'* ; ; j ;»*.isrv%*.'^^i^  , 


r . ■ r-v-,  , 


126 


refuge  in  the  theory  that  the  contemplative  life  is  higher  than 
the  active;  but  Lupset  confutes  him  by  appealing  to  Aristotle,  who 
blamed  the  philosophers  for  not  making  better  the  lives  of  others. 
Pole  then  draws  an  argument  from  the  legend  of  the  Golden  Age,  that 
man  is  not  born  to  a social  and  political  life,  society  and  its 
duties  being  only  the  result  of  the  corruption  of  mankind.  Lupset 
replies  that  it  is  the  duty  of  such  men  as  Pole  to  counteract  this 
corruption  and  help  restore  justice  in  the  world.  The  real  argument 
then  begins,  over  the  problem  of  finding  a philosophical  conception 
of  a just  civil  life  and  political  order. 

The  sceptical  Pole  fears  that  our  political  ideal  is 
merely  ”as  hyt  were,  a conspyracy  in  honesty  and  vertue, 
stablyschyd  by  commyn  assent.”  For  the  Turk,  the  Jew,  and  the 
Saracen,  as  well  as  the  Christian,  maintains  that  his  own  manner 
of  life  is  the  most  "agreabul  to  reson  and  nature  as  a thyng  con- 
fyrmyd  by  Goddys  owne  dyuynyte.  So  that  by  thys  mean  hyt  apperyth 
al  stondyth  in  the  jugement  and  opynyon  of  man,  in  so  much  that 
wych  ys  the  veray  true  polytyke  and  cyuyle  lyfe,  no  man  surely  by 
your  dyffynytyon  can  affyrme  wyth  any  certaynty. 

Lupset  acknowledges  that  ”thys  ys  no  smal  dowte  to  some 
men."  And  in  his  further  remarks,  one  suspects  an  allusion  to 
materialistic  and  sceptical  tendencies  which  Starkey  must  have  met 
with  in  Italy,  perhaps  to  the  recent  works  of  Machiavelli . For, 
Lupset  continues, 

”by cause  suche  ther  be  wych  couertly  take  away  al 
C3Tuylyte,  and  wold  bryng  al  to  confusyon  and 
tyranny,  saying  ther  ys  no  dyfference  betwyn  j 


Op.  cit. , p.ll. 


-:Mm  ttftm  ^ 

' ■.  ■^  ' .'^  i,r  ' ■■  '•■.Si 


-I' 


f(p  .'.i; 

"V  ;,'-r.'  'ii" 


f^'-  M 


't  i • ■',  ■:  tn 

'.Cit-.  ,je»vob 


n ,-'  ■ '7^  ‘"ij  f - ' ’i  r i ^ i'V  rv  i- '* ■'.  V; ' ' ■ 

<!xcb  , ‘tf&i J XiA! 

■ .'•:£  .; ■ , ■_  - ' :.::k  1 1 .' , : : 


< 


. » 


127 


vyce  and  vertue  but  strong  opynyon,  and  that  al 
such  thyngys  hang  of  the  folysch  fansy  and 
jugement  of  man;  I schal  fyrst  schow  you  how  vertue 
stondyth  by  nature  and  not  only  by  the  opynyon  of 
man;  and  second  how  and  by  what  mean  thvs  folysch 
opynyon  cam  in  to  thos  lyght  braynys."^ 

In  fulfilling  his  first  promise,  Lupset  points  to  the 
excellence  and  dignity  of  man,  his  mastery  over  beasts,  and  his 
arts  which  reveal  the  divinity  that  is  innate  in  him.  But  this 
celestial  and  divine  nature  of  man  is  expressed  also  in  the 
universal  recognition  of  such  virtues  as  temperance  and  courage, 
and  in  the  rooted  reverence  for  God  which  is  "in  al  men  by  nature, 
wythout  any  other  instructyon. ” 

”Thes  vertues,  and  other  lyke,  whereby  man,  of 
nature  meke,  gentyl,  and  ful  of  human yte,  ys 
inclynyd  and  sterryd  to  cyuyle  ordur  and  louyng 
company,  wyth  honeste  behauyour  both  toward  God 
and  m.an,  are  by  the  power  of  nature  in  the  hart 
of  man  rotyd  and  plant yd,  and  by  no  vayn  opynyon 
or  fansy  conceyuyed. 

Many  there  are  who  live  in  disregard  of  this  divine  excellence  of 
their  nature,  but  they  suffer  constant  disapproval  from  their 
conscience . 


"For  they  have  rotyd  in  theyr  hartys  a certain 
rule,  euer  repugnyng  to  theyr  maner  of  lyfyng, 
wych  they,  by  necligente  incontynence , suffer  to 
be  corrupt;  the  wych  rule,  so  certayn  and  so  stabul, 
ys  callyd  of  phylosopharys  and  wyse  men,  the 
unyuersal  and  true  law  of  nature,  wych  to  al 
natyonys  ys  commyn,  no  thyng  hangyng  of  the  opynyon 
and  folysch  fansy  of  man.  In  so  much  that  yf  man, 
by  corrupt  jugement,  wold  extyme  vertue  as  vyce,  no 
thyng  regardyng  hys  o'wne  dygnyte,  yet  vertues,  by 
theyr  owne  nature,  be  no  les  vertues,  nor  mynyschyd 
of  theyr  excellency,  by  any  such  frantyke  fansy;  no 
more  than  yf  al  men  togyder  wold  conspyre  that  there 
were  no  God,  who  by  that  folysch  opynyon  schold  no 
thyng  be  mynysched  of  hys  hye  maiesty,  or  yf  they 


pOp.  cit.  p.ll. 
‘^Op.  cit.  p.l4. 


138 


prouydence . 


wold,  say  that  he  nother  gouernyth  nor  rulyth  thys 
world,  yet  theyr  opynyon  makyth  no  les  hys  hye 


After  establishing,  to  his  O’wn  and  the  Cardinal's 


satisfaction,  the  eternal  and  immutable  character  of  the  Law  of 
Nature,  Lupset  still  has  the  variations  in  laws  and  customs  and 
ethical  feeling  to  explain.  He  therefore  distinguishes,  as 
political  theory  had  done  before  him  from  the  Romans  down,  between 
the  divine  and  absolute  Law  of  Nature  and  the  human  and  changeable 
Civil  Law.  The  natural  impulses  need  the  aid  of  man,  the  assistance 
and  protection  of  government  and  institutions. 


"Wherfor  amonge  al  men  and  al  natyonys,  as  I 
thynk,  apon  erth,  ther  be,  and  euer  hathe  byn, 
other  certayn  custurays  and  manerys  by  long  use 
and  tyme  confyrmyd  and  approuydj  other  lawys  wryten 
and  deuysyd  by  the  polytyke  wytte  of  man  receyuyd 
and  stablyschyd  for  the  mayntenaunce  and  settyng 
forward  of  ther  natural  sedys  and  plantys  of  vertue; 
wych  custume  and  law  by  man  so  ordeynyd  and  deuysyd* 
ys  callyd  the  oyuyle  law,  for  bycause  they  be  as 
meanys  to  bryng  man  to  the  perfectyon  of  the  cyuyle 
lyf e j wythout  the  ordynance  of  thes  lawys,  the  other 
sone  wylbe  corrupt,  the  wedys  wyl  sone  ouergrow  the 
gud  come.  Thys  law  cyuyle  is  fer  dyfferent  from 
the  other;  for  in  euery  cuntrey  hyt  ys  d3ruerse  and 
varyabul,  ye  almost  in  euery  cyte  and  towne.  Thys 
law  takyth  effects  of  the  opynyon  of  man,  hyt 
restyth  holly  in  hys  consent,  and  varyth  acoordyng 
to  the  place  and  tyme,  in  so  much  that  in  dyuerse'^ 
tyme  and  place  contrary  lawys  are  both  gud,  and 
both  conuenyent  to  the  polytyke  lyf e . Wher  as  the 
law  of  nature  ys  euer  one,  in  al  cuntreys  fyrme  and 
stabul,  and  neuer  for  the  tyme  varyth;  hyt  ys  neuer 
chaungeabul;  the  consent  of  man  doth  no  thyng  therto; 
hyt  hangyth  no  th3mg  of  tyme  nor  place,  but  accordyng 
as  ryght  reson  ys  euer  one,  so  ys  thys  law,  and  neuer 
varyth  aftur  the  fansy  of  man."2 


theorists  before  him  when  he  begins  to  illustrate  his  general 


Lupset  encounters  the  old  difficulty  of  the  political 


^Op.  cit.  p.  14. 

.^Op.  Pit,  nn.  15-16. 


X-'*, 

0-4’- 

, ' .A  - 


|r^ 

V'-‘"TrT'  ■■  ■■  \ ■■ . -,  : M ‘ ■ : i ‘C'’  ''^'/v'  ^ 

' ffci: M , -^'i.cf * Q T ’ ' "t'\ 

' V WjaU*ilv’'fW»Tto^^ 


-'M*  ,'SJrf'J  '■£;^Siil^-^il«. 

I’'..,  ...  -l/f  ■ *' ' 


Si’-fT, -I  « ■•■  U'  ■■  •'>®!'-  ■'•■  '■  if  ■ ••  , ■'•A*'  '^w-i^'  I..' Vl^isJQ&-,  -Jin 

an^l^  ,ra*^'(fl^H  Sff;'  §J*K  *ta4>(< 


' i,  ; 


ioniyaJeei  -ci^  ,s<i^;»fcXbJ!i"-jW'  b.»s<» 

r ' .,-  ■;  ,.  ^ v’'i' ' 'li-.  ..  1»' 

' ' ■«»'-»i' ■■  /■»■•» '«.  .iifiC/tfujtSent  t-m. 


r 

k. 


J - 


-V  .< 


Mr 


j,  \ - 


~ Mttfitpii  it^lMlaMM 


principles.  For  there  was  no  unanimity  of  opinion  as  to  the  exact 
line  of  demarcation  between  the  Law  of  Nature  and  the  Civil  Law. 
Lupset,  in  fact,  is  very  tolerant  and  inclusive  in  selecting  his 
illustrations  of  such  laws  as  are  ” binding  only  on  those  who 
receive  them." 


"As  to  absteyn  from  flesch  apon  the  Fryday, " he 
says,  "wyth  us  hyt  ys  now  reputyd  a certayn  vertue, 
wyth  the  Turkys  no  thyng  so;  prestys  to  lyue  chast, 
wyth  us  hyt  ys  a certayn  vertue  and  honesty,  wyth 
the  Grekys  hyt  ys  no  thyng  so;  to  mary  but  one  wyfe, 
wyth  us  hyt  ys  a certayn  vertue  also,  wyth  other 
natyonys,  as  Turkys,  Morys,  and  Sarasyns,  hyt  ys 
no  thyng  so."l 

In  principle,  however.  Civil  Law  should  always  be  based  on  the  Law 

of  Nature,  to  which  it  is  merely  the  aid.  For,  he  says, 

"thys  law  ys  the  ground  and  end  of  the  other,  to 
the  wych  hyt  must  euer  be  referryd,  non  other  wyse  then 
the  conclusyonys  of  artys  mathematical  are  euer 
referryd  to  theyr  pryncypullys . For  cyuyle  ordynance 
ys  but  as  a mean  to  bryng  man  to  observe  thys  law  of 
nature,  in  so  much  that,  yf  ther  be  any  cyuyle  law 
ordeynyd  wych  can  not  be  resoluyd  therto,  hyt  ys  of  no 
value;  for  al  gud  cyuyle  lawys  spryng  and  yssue  out 
of  the  law  of  nature,  as  brokys  and  ryuerys  out  of 
fountaynys  and  wellys."^ 


In  reading  this  brief  Renaissance  dialogue  on  political 
ethics,  we  note  the  essential  coincidence  in  ideas  and  terminology 
with  the  discussions  of  the  ancient  Stoics,  as  represented  by  Cicero;  | 
except  that  the  Stoics  contended  chiefly  with  the  Epicureans, whereas  I 

I i 

Starkey  directs  his  polemics  exclusively  at  scepticism  and  moral  j 
anarchy.  This  change  of  emphasis  is  significant;  it  indicates  the  I 


gOp.  cit.  p.17.  j 

Op.  cit.  p.l6.  Hooker  discusses  the  distinction  between  the  uni- 
versality^ of  the  "Law  of  Nature  and  Reason"  and  the  variety  of  cus- 
tom and  civil  law  in  Laws  of  Ecclesiastical  Polity.  Book  I,  viii  10  I 
iie  quotes  Augustine's  statement  of  the  objections  of  the  Sceptics  'i 


, p:' 

7^Wir0  d0i 


5 :''^L  BP.  ;■  , _ T,  ^ ‘ ^ ' ■ tjl.''’’ VijT'.  '■  ’ k''  ■ ' 5''""' 

^'■  '.  6'^x'\*f..-"'V;  - i'-  ''t»'  , "* ,° 

• :; ^ :„r vr • • ^ ^ 'f 


''** 

^2 


, Mjss  "*"1'’  ;icf%  ,|eff 
sifT, ..'^tf^ri.'j*-!  os 


‘‘■  ' V^d,  ^sS,  ' 'TY.'A  L 


i W u •'  "'^fjiv''  tJ  ^ '-'l'  ro*^"*  A/ftH  •’'*•  “4  il3c‘‘  "^V  •f^SWr/V 

mi  itaw' ■■  rttsaa 

■ ,-.si>.|»«9pe  ..jiijir.'  !iA 

'fe  t^i, . ;■«  ,:: ' :«>iii.i;  aii ' ' -"  ■ 


1.. 


ii>weu»ttofc'«^r<attyy^^  aytuiiii  'jij  "i  hum  hph  ■ 


li  '.  .. . 


r..m 


pi;y  kiiw«»>))^|li^a  iirvwai^  ■’ 


v^. 


130 


I 

persist6nce  of  scsptical  disssTif.  And  w©  realize  even  from  this 
brief  account  of  the  conflict  of  scepticism  with  the  theory  of  the 
Law  of  Nature,  from  Cicero  to  the  Renaissance,  what  definite 
connotations  and  implications  the  apparently  coinmonplace  terms, 
"Nature,"  "Opinion"  and  "Custom"  must  have  had  for  John  Donne  and 
his  readers,  interested  and  versed  in  one  of  the  acutest  problems 
of  thought  of  the  time.^  We  shall  understand  even  better  the 
definiteness  of  this  problem  in  Renaissance  thought  after  examining 
further  the  opposition  to  the  doctrine  of  the  Law  of  Nature. 

IV 

The  "Libertine"  Appeal  to  Nature 

Besides  the  sceptical  opposition  to  the  Law  of  Nature, 
the  persistence  of  which  through  the  centuries  of  European  political 
thought  we  have  already  sufficiently  discussed,  there  was  another 
tradition,  hitherto  ignored  by  historians  of  literature  and  thought, 
which  developed  from  a reversal  of  the  theory  of  the  Golden  Age. 

The  dream  of  a perfect  life  at  the  beginning  of  the  world,  when  man- 
kind as  well  as  all  other  creatures  retained  the  divine  impress  of 
their  origin,  could  not  fail  to  attract  those  who  sought  in  a 
divine  Law  of  Nature  the  one  stable  and  saving  element  in  a cor- 
rupted human  nature.  Roman  political  theory  appropriated  this  idea 

^Donne  could  not,  of  course,  have  read  Starkey's  unpublished 
dialogue.  But  as  a learned  man,  and  especially  as  a student  of 
Civil  Law,  he  must  have  been  familiar  with  the  philosouhy  of  Law 
which  Starkey  expounded. 


, ,r  V ■ ■ L^*i^':47W7rK*r  • w-i?  ‘ 


[}.,'  -*%m?'  -t'i 

»£.  wf*s.'; .r  ,:m‘£-,.^m  a -:ite 


!t^nP  *« /,  ■‘.•i , ',  ’ '>s  ■■  wt  1, i ' '’ ' ' ’’  ¥.1'  ,/.i  / Vyl^ 


^ ICfc ’•  ^'v 


. 'I  i \ ~ 

I,;  ,„!^;  .* 


I-.,}*. 


, r*  '■ 


\i 


‘ Xft  . - -'5.‘  ' -‘  .- t'-'^  Sfv ■■^}'  ^ . i ' it' 

5. . I,^4ij/ifcAii<(#'V%S'to  nUssirV.  fe'V  «»W»^f’^-'  r%!lfe->fv  Vvi'  >.f,  '.-ST.r  d^r®  f 'j 


ffit 


‘?'-">  i;. 


"5  ^ 


: « V ■ ■ ■"’  «■  i^...  ,v.,  ^ ":ii.  . 


’ ' ''  '.'u  ■'  ' ' . IB' ‘Vi' I 

0/Jt,  '.y^  t'M%ayj^>t 

.».  ...»  .. 

■■*'  :J  ^ ,A  ■' A*’' V '^'A ; \ 


131 


li 


of  a primitive  state  of  nature,  and  in  Patristic  thought  it  was 

accentuated  by  the  parallel  idea  of  the  Garden  of  Eden.  The  Law 

of  Nature  was  then  explained  as  a survival  from  an  age  of  innocence 

and  perfection.^  But,  as  has  been  said,  there  grew  up  a tradition 

which  reversed  this  belief  in  primitive  perfection,  substituting: 

for  it  an  evolutionary  theory  of  the  gradual  ascent  of  man  from 

barbarism,  from  a state  of  nature  which  was  not  far  removed  from 

that  of  animals.  And,  as  the  notion  of  the  Golden  Age  was  congenial 

to  the  thought  of  the  Stoics,  so  the  opposite  theory  was  developed 

by  their  adversaries,  the  Epicureans,  and  especially  by  Lucretius. 

Other  poets  had  before  him  described  the  earliest  state  of  man  as 
2 

savagery,  but  his  distinction  and  his  influence  on  thought,  both 
in  antiquity  and  the  Renaissance,  give  to  his  account  an  unusual 
historical  importance. 

In  the  fifth  book  of  his  Renom  Natura  Lucretius 
describes  the  evolution  of  the  world  in  terms  of  a materialistic 
atomism.  In  many  ways  his  theory  parallels  such  modern  conceptions  j 
as  that  of  a gradual  change  from  the  simple  to  the  complex,  from 
the  homogeneous  to  the  heterogeneous . In  the  course  of  this  change,  I 
blind  and  stumbling  chance  produced  many  failures,  and  out  of  the  I 
many  combinations  wrought  by  the  "dance  of  atoms"  only  a few  fittest 
have  survived.  Lucretius  applied  this  theory  alike  to  the  evolution 
of  the  world  and  the  evolution  of  human  society.  And,  instead  of  a 
Golden  Age,  he  conceives  of  primitive  man  as  a wild  animal,  free 
from  restraints  and  governed  only  by  his  desires.  | 

I 

gCarlyle,  op.  cit.  I,  4S-44,  117,  134,  144-146. 

Benn,  A.  W.,  The  Greek  Philosophers,  London  (1882).  II,  98-ff. 


, ,.  ^ y'  ?i  , . !^  ■ ■i<4*  '.'  ■ -fn  -T.-*i  ^ ''^1^'*^,y?& 

• ' V '‘■m  ■ ^.‘ ■■  ,, 

r ■'.  ' ' -f -mm '.  k:^!>: . W 

■ “^''t‘  *CiA >:-,?.■»;?  ia4:  ,vtf>.<«a  ^ 


: ■'  -IE/'  W ■'  i - . -ft;-'  . 

'-'  ' *^  • y »;  , * < t'f  ^ ■ ’-;■  >1'*  !/' '. , ^ T' 

‘.i  •'  ,-  '•3L“'' ' , ;i  <ft;‘  >■  '’r^'  ■' . •'■  •:  'r’  '■),  ^'■v•.■■''■■ir  .^  •“  ^ .'  ' "/!i!l 


*^4j  .T 


"■^^v 


'iil 

'S'.  , ■• 

t,-  ,XAor:^xrrst, 


. ■.!  St.:  ' y ' ;•-■  ' ■''  '^  • fr  '^•:'^H,rf'  ''  '^'  , ' " ' ’'}5  ■.■■/.  ."^1^ 

‘f'J  vk^^•^^^l<i^  ^jju,  *'^1 

* t'  • 1 ' ' ’ ■ '■  ■ '^  ,' >T.  . '''.i .' -,  T ' 'p- 

».€?«».! il  »-a>,  S.xt'at)  ;'''s,'*6j.ft.,|(?'  '(c^ 

' " /■':  ..V  W'rjfc ; 

. . lA  .'^  - Z.  ..'  ,w  ^ ' ■ fcii  irrnrtyr  a.'  '' k.  < ^ tlj  Jiu- ' A ^ ih.  a*^«  1 ‘.  r «AK 


I'j,;  .im"  J?r  .’f.S5£i|,);  %tGfia- 

'*•• '•' rii' rrii|[iiijiif>i;w^  iritii^^i«iiiVii<ii(iwi.^>Niii^^n^^  ' ‘‘  * *|r  F‘  " ' 


133 


”Nor  could  they  look  to  the  common  weal,  nor  had 
they  knowledge  to  make  mutual  use  of  any  customs  or 
laws.^  Whatever  booty  chance  had  offered  to  each, he 
bore  it  off;  for  each  was  taught  at  his  ovra  will  to 
live  and  thrive  for  himself  alone.  And  Venus  would 
unite  lovers  in  the  woods;  for  each  woman  was  wooed 
either  by  mutual  passion,  or  by  the  man’s  fierce 
force  and  reckless  lust,  or  by  a price,  acorns  and 
arbute-berries  or  choice  pears.”! 


One  of  the  earliest  civilizing  influences  was  the  institution  of  the 
family  and  the  home. 

’Then  after  they  got  themselves  huts  and  skins  and 
fire,  and  woman  yoked  with  man  retired  to  a single 
(home  and  the  laws  of  marriage)  were  learnt,  and 
they  saw  children  sprung  from  them,  then  first  the 
race  of  man  began  to  soften. 

Evolution,  however,  does  not  necessarily  imply  ameliora- 
tion or  progress,  unless  measured  by  some  scale  of  moral  and 
spiritual  values.  Such  values  were  foreign  to  the  thought  of 
Lucretius.  The  establishment  of  the  family,  for  instance,  did  not 
signify  to  him  the  discovery  of  the  sanctity  or  chivalry  of  conjugal 
love.  The  family  he  regarded  as  a purely  utilitarian  institution; 
and  as  for  love,  Lucretius  advised  against  allowing  any  emotional 


1 

Translation  by  Cyril  Bailey,  Oxford  (1910).  p.218. 

nec  commune  bonum  poterant  spectare  neque  ullis 
moribus  inter  se  scibant  nec  le gibus  uti. 
quod  cuique  obtulerat  praedae  fortuna,  fere  bat 
sponte  sua  sibi  quisque  valere  et  vivere  doctus. 
et  Venus  in  silvis  iungebat  corpora  amantum; 
conciliabat  enim  vel  mutua  quamque  cup i do 

vel  violenta  viri  vis  atque  impensa  libido  \ 

n pretium,  glandes  atque  arbita  vel  pira  lecta. 

De  Rerum  Natura,  Book  V,  958-965.  ed.Munro,  3rd  ed. , Cambridge  (1873) | 
‘^Translation  cited,  p.219.  " p.333.  | 

Inde  casas  postquam  ac  pellis  ignemque  pararunt,  I 

et  mulier  coniuncta  viro  concessit  in  tmum 

* * * * I 

cognita  sunt,  prolemque  ex  se  videre  creatam, 
turn  genus  humanum  primum  mollescere  coepit. 

£ook  V. 1011-1014.  Ed, cit.  P.335. ^ 


, Wf, 

h( 


i ;V* 


r^:,,  ,^1i 

'tiy  ■ - 

■•■■  -•'•  • -"■•  ■ - '-'  * 4"  --  -t-;.^'  ...  X»JB.  .*.■,•  .'-.IaL  4..  a- 


a)n>* ,:  's-itra*  'c  cv 


m- 


^*.  T '.  1 * :"’,  ^*7  tjf  J'f  , -y  * ’ !'  ■•  ' ’ ■'  ''  ■ 

Pi;.-  ■ .%i§446,,W#x<y'r;  J^acfe4:'#xi|^^ 

(■'■I'...;.  ..  ’ i «■  ; ' ±_-.,_;  ..  ' .' .>.A«*.'..jt»:.  ..i- ll*?-  . .^J^:  ■ A * f*i  r » C £|P  f*  V mf 

•m:0ST90ifmt^  • • ' ■ *i>»wwTifyiiJi  wry><ttiiiiM  wtfl  iThM^  fri||<jiiyi  riif^hiNippff 

2'  . ' ' ...  .V.'ii!  '.'i:  >:^IK ■.-.’iSik 


1 JE?'  y..  .- •;v.'.) ' :'  .v!  C< 'Hjv  ’j 


133 


disturbance  or  inconvenient  personal  devotion  to  accompany  its 
physical  satisfactions.^  "Lucr^oe,"  says  Guyau,  ”de  meme  que 
Rousseau,  montre  quelque  faible  pour  les  hommes  des  premiers 
temps.  II  admire  leurs  jouissances  faciles,  — vives  quoique 
grossieres.  II  a des  rancunes  centre  notre  civilisation. " ^ 
Lucretius  did  not  strengthen  the  moral  and  spiritual  perceptions  of 
mankind.  In  conduct  and  political  ethics,  as  elsevyhere,  his 
influence  has  been  on  the  side  of  scepticism,  materialism  and 
pessimism. 

Down  to  the  Renaissance,  however,  the  conception  of 
primitive  man  which  Seneca  made  a part  of  European  political  thought 
was  even  more  important  historically  than  that  of  Lucretius.  Seneca 
lived  in  an  eclectic  age,  and  combined  the  two  contrary  ideas  of 
the  Golden  Age  and  of  primitive  sim.plicity  and  imperfect  develop- 
ment.  In  the  earliest  age,  he  said,  men  were  happy  and  uncor- 
rupted. But  as  they  were  ignorant,  their  happiness  was  due  merely 
to  innocence  and  natural  goodness,  not  to  virtue,  which  is  only 
achieved  bv  effort  and  discipline.  Neither  could  they  be  called 
wise.  In  their  perfect  innocence,  they  had  no  need  of  institutions: 
no  government  guarded  private  property,  for  they  had  all  things  in  j 
common.  They  followed  without  dissension  the  counsel  of  the  best 
and  wisest  men.  But,  as  human  nature  deteriorated  and  developed  — 
such  is  the  paradox  of  the  theory  — institutions  had  to  be  devised 
and  laws  enacted  to  coerce  mankind  back  to  order  and  regularity, 

^De  Re rum  Natura.  Book  I^,  11.  1056-1074.  i 

Guyau,  M.,  La  Morale  d'Epicure.  5th  ed. , Paris  (1910).  p.l70. 

"Ce  stoicien  nourri  des  id^es  epicuriennes, ” Guyau  says,  calline 
attention  to  Seneca's  indebtedness  to  Lucretius.  Op.  cit.  p.l67." 


J 


t *-J  If  f * ’'■•■»r\!^il  '' 


|*TPpi^c:  ;. 

'?,  »■  j i sfis^i 

51'  -..^A-.  '■'■'/».  A"  ■ * '■  .. Hv/ . •.  j^ir,  •,’  '■  ’k  A’'*;-v . i-' 


■“V.  ■■.' , ■ " jaR&aiifc  > 


,'<n 


; 111'  ■ , ";  -v:^.,../- .i ':■ . ., 1" 


'>J*! 


' ■ ■ ^ ■ v'ft ■;  'A  ' 

‘ I J* . i ^ ■ '/yi.  'I  'V  \m' 


1;  v3k  ( . 


■ ■ 


134 


though  it  is  never  possible  to  secure  by  these  means  the  harmony 
which  existed  without  force  in  the  Golden  Age.^ 

We  need  not  here  trace  the  influence  of  Seneca’s  incon- 
sistent discussion  on  Roman,  Patristic,  Medieval  and  Renaissance 
political  thought.  It  reappears  everywhere,  as  Carlyle  has  shown 
in  his  History  of  Medieval  Political  Thought . "We  have  here," 

he  says, 

"a  statement  of  that  theory  of  the  state  of  nature, 
which  was  to  exercise  a great  influence  upon  the 
whole  character  of  political  thought  for  nearly 
eighteen  centuries.  It  is  true  that  the  concep- 
tion of  the  state  of  nature  in  Seneca  is  not  the 
same  as  in  some  other  writers;  but  the  importance 
of  the  theory  for  our  inquiry  lies  not  so  much  in 
the  particular  forms  in  which  men  held  it,  as  in 
the  fact  that  in  all  forms  it  assumed  a distinction 
between  primitive  and  conventional  institutions 
which  largely  influenced  the  ideal  and  sometimes 
even  the  practical  tendency  of  men's  thoughts."^ 

Ideas  reappear  in  unexpected  places  and  often  in  unusual 
guises.  The  confused  conception  of  the  Golden  Age  which  in 
political  thought  is  derived  from  Seneca,  is,  I believe,  the 
explanation  of  some  passages  in  the  satirical  continuation  of  the  j 
Romance  o^  the  Rose  by  Jean  de  Meung*.  This  learned  and  witty  j 

bourgeois  poet  treated  with  cynical  contempt  the  ideals  of  courtly 
love,  as  well  as  most  of  the  other  social  and  political  institutiors 
and  modes  of  life  of  the  Middle  Ages;  and  the  misery  and  injustice  j 
and  hypocrisy  of  his  time  he  attributed  to  the  fall  of  man  from  the  ! 
state  of  nature.  In  his  revolt  he  dreamed  again  the  dream,  of  the  i 


Seneca,  Epistolae . XIV,  2.  Carlyle,  op.  cit.  I,  23-ff. 

|Carlyle  op.  cit.  I,  23-24. 

Although  these  ideas  are  expressed  by  characters  in  the  story, thev 
are  generally  imputed  to  the  author,  as  by  Gustave  Lanson,  Un 
Naturaliste  du  ^Ile  Siecle,  in  Revue  Bleue,  July  14.  1894. nn. 35-41 J 

I 


" ■ ' 'S’'"' 


■>^/'  '^W' 


‘ ■ ' \r  ^ 

s 'Jvr 


f~l.>rl'rt\S-, 


. ' '’  ■ ' •■'  '»'  ■•  • ' • • \.”  _ - I I ' , , ?*•  -ij  • i:  I.  S *3  :J-..  W-  wA,  i «A^ 


>y- 


;w 


.'  i!i^'  . '5- 


’ i.v-4^’''9^^' 


;.  ® 'S6^TJ  '.;^r • aic-  ■''  'Unw*'  t ^i-r; .£  i 

, .nyje  , . ^ •;  \'V?^r:4.:. , ,.  '•■  ' • .'  ■ vKV,  .1''  ” 


135 


Golden  Age,  of  its  freedom  from  coercive  government,  of  its  facile 

life,  its  coranrunisni  without  work  or  responsibility,  but  especially 

of  its  free  love  and  absence  of  family  ties.^  This  "naturalist” 

did  not  think  of  Nature  as  the  Stoics  had  done,  as  the  revelation 

of  Universal  Reason,  but  as  the  deification  of  the  physical  and 

2 

instinctive  life,  in  the  way  of  which  stand  our  conventional 
institutions  and  conventional  morality.  The  Old  Lady  put  the  matter 
bluntly  in  the  following  speech  to  the  Lover,  a speech  which  serves 
as  a chorus  to  her  satirical  narratives;  she  is  speaking  of  wives: 

"D‘ autre  part,  el  sunt  f ranches  nees; 

Loi  les  a condicionnees, 

Qui  les  oste  de  lor  franchises 
Ob  Nature  les  avait  mises: 

Car  Nature  n’est  pas  si  sote 
Qu'ele  feist  nest re  Marote 
Tant  solement  por  Robichon, 

Se  1’ entendement  i fichon, 

Ne  Robichon  por  Mariete, 

Ne  por  Agnbs,  ne  por  Perrete: 

Ains  nous  a fait,  biau  filz,  n'en  doutes, 

Toutes  por  tous  et  tous  por  toutes, 

Chascune  por  chascun  commune, 

Et  chascun  commijin  por  chascune. 

Si  que  quant  eus  sunt  affixes. 

Par  loi  prises  et  marines, 

Por  oster  dissolucions,  | 

Et  contens,  et  occisions, 

Et  por  aidier  les  norretures 

Dont  il  ont  ensemble  les  cures,  || 

Si  s'efforcent  en  toutes  guises  | 

De  retorner  "a  lor  franchises  !| 

Les  dames  et  les  damoiseles, 

Quiex  qu'el  soient,  ledes  ou  beles."^  ! 

! 

What  makes  this  appeal  to  Nature  on  behalf  of  free  love 
particularly  significant  is  that,  in  the  passages  referred  to  above, 
Jean  de  Meung  associates  the  family  with  all  the  political  institu- 

! 

1 I 

Le_  Roman  de  la  Rose . ed.  Marteau,  Pierre.  Orleans  (1878) . II, 276-ff. 
11.  8671-8772;  pp.  354-ff.,  11.  9927-10008. 

Knowlton,  E.  C. , The  Goddess  Nature  in  Early  Periods.  Journal  of 
English  and  Germanic  Philology,  vol.  XIX  (l920) . 

^ Roman  de  la  Rose , ed.cit.  Ill,  270.  11.  14477-14500.  ! 


K.  ■ 


fr*,Kj»“-  c’ v.■^■J^^>w ' ' ^T%-fe>.-»f,ti -n'fVii  snY* f A'ft^rv  '•7  1!»^‘ S.  ■vS*«  ;4<«t'iSr  ‘ 


. >>  ! 


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■■■"■  ' ■ ■'  ■ ‘ ■ — ^-  ■ • -— 


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4 


tions  and  arts  of  civil! izat ion  as  interfering  with  primitive  and 
free  life  according  to  Nature  in  the  Golden  Age.  Our  human 
institutions  have  therefore  merely  the  sanction  of  custom;  and  they 
violate  Nature  — not  the  Nature  of  the  Stoics,  but  a degraded  | 

Nature,  personifying  the  irrational  elements  of  life.  The  Golden 
Age,  which  to  the  Stoics  had  been  an  ideal  of  order  and  reason, 
became  with  Jean  de  Meung  the  dream  of  ease  and  unlimited  freedom 
and  indulgence . 

Where  did  Jean  find  this  revolutionary  thought?  One  might 
answer  that  he  found  it  along  with  his  other  rebellious  ideas  in 
his  own  cynical  nature.  They  are  indeed  expressed  with  a vigor 
and  sincerity  which  give  them  an  original  sound.  But  Jean  in  each 
case  refers  to  ancient  and  learned  authorities  — no  doubt  feeling 
that  such  ideas  needed  the  patronage  of  authority; 

”Si  cum  la  letre  le  tesnioigne. 

Par  qui  nous  savons  la  be soigne 
Furent  amors  loiaus  et  fines. 

Sans  covoitise  et  sans  rapines."^ 

and  in  another  passage  he  says:  | 

"De  la  Vint  li  commencemens  | 

As  rois,  as  princes  terriens,  | 

Selonc  I’escript  as  anciens; 

Car  par  I'escript  que  nous  avons,  } 

Les  fais  des  anciens  savons; 

Si  les  en  devons  raercier, 

Et  loer  et  regracier."^ 

Langlois,  in  his  study  of  the  sources  of  The  Romance  of  the  Rose . 
was  unable  to  identify  these  "ancient  writers."  Ovid,  as  he  pointed 
out,  does  not  allude  to  the  origin  of  government  in  his  description 


^Rpman,  ed.  cit.  II,  278.  11.  8673-6. 
^Roman.  ed.  cit.  II,  358.  11.  9974-9980. 


' "I,, 


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137  \ 

of  the  changes  from  the  Golden  Age  to  our  o^to.  Lucretius  was 
not  read  in  the  Middle  Ages,  and  therefore  the  parallelism  with 
the  fifth  book  of  De  Rerum  Natura  explains  nothing.^  Langlois 
therefore  makes  the  rather  vague  suggestion  that  "sa  theorie  sur 
I'origine  des  pouvoirs  publics  e'^tait  sans  doute  une  opinion 
courante  dans  les  e'coles  de  son  temps,  et  qu'on  attribuait  aux 
anciens,”  and  quotes  a passage  from  Isodore  of  Seville  on  the 
first  election  of  princes  and  kings. ^ But  the  early  election  of 
rulers,  the  idea  of  the  social  contract,  was  only  a part  of  the  | 
legal  tradition  which  provides  a much  broader  and  completer 
parallel  than  Langlois  thought,  to  the  ideas  of  Jean,  and,  as  we 
have  seen,  it  was  actually  derived  from  antiquity.  The  old 
tradition  of  political  thought  was  only  given  a new  turn  and 
significance  by  the  sceptical,  cynical  and  somewhat  gross  tempera- 
ment of  the  medieval  satirist. 

Jean's  naturalistic  theories  were  disseminated  by  the 
wide  circulation  of  The  Romance  of  the  Rose , not  only  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  but  even  into  the  Renaissance.  French  poets  imitated  his 
protest  against  the  conventions  of  the  political  order  of  his  day 

I 

as  well  as  his  denunciation  of  the  bonds  of  marriage.^  Chaucer,  in 
the  true  English  manner,  stopped  short  of  the  violent  revolt  of  his 

I 

1 { 

Scholars  disagree,  however,  on  the  question  of  the  accessibility  j 
of  Lucretius  in  the  Middle  Ages.  See  discussion  and  references  in 
Sandys,  J.E.,  History  of  Classical  Scholarshir).  2nd  ed. , Cambridge 
(1906).  I,  631-3;  and  in  Merrill’s  edition  of  Lucretius,  New  York 
(1907),  Introduction,  pp.  50-1. 

, Langlois,  Ernest,  Orieines  et  Sources  du  Roman  de  la  Rose.  Paris 
(1891).  pp.  125-7. 

Wood,  Mary  Morton,  The  Spirit  of  Protest  in  Old  French  Literature  j 
New  York  (1917).  See  especially  the  poems  on  free  love  as  the  state! 
of  Nature,  pp.  161-ff.  Dr.  Wood,  who  ignored  the  development  of  ! 


138 

"emancipated”  Continental  predecessor.  "Tte  English  poet , ” says 
one  student  of  him,  "was  philosopher  and  economist  enough  to 
recognize  and  to  insist  on  the  instituion  of  marriage  as  the  great 
steadier  of  society.  He  is  not  at  one  with  the  French  poet  when 
Jean  makes  serious  attacks  on  marriage  and  paints  in  glowing  colors 
a world  of  unrestraint  and  free  love.”^  But  there  is  perhaps  a 
recollection  of  Jean  in  the  impatient  reflections  of  the  lover  on 
St.  Valentine's  day  in  Lydgate's  Flower  of  Courtesy: 

"The  sely  wrenne,  the  titmose  also, 

The  litel  redbrest,  have  free  eleccioun 
To  flyen  y-fere  and  to  gider  go 
Wher-as  hem  liste,  abouten  enviroun, 

As  they  of  kynde  have  inclinacioun, 

And  as  Nature,  emperesse  and  gyde. 

Of  every  thing,  liste  to  provyde; 

But  man  aloon,  alas.'  the  harde  stounde.' 

Ful  cruelly,  by  kynde s ordinaunce, 

Constrayned  is,  and  by  statut  bounde. 

And  debarred  from  alle  such  plesaunce. 

What  meneth  this?  What  is  this  purveyaunce 
Of  god  above,  agayn  al  right  of  kynde, 

Withoute  cause,  so  narowe  man  to  bynde?"^ 

It  is  more  difficult  to  trace  any  direct  influence  of 
Jean  de  Meung  in  the  Renaissance.  Such  successors  as  Rabelais  and 
Montaigne  owed  more  to  classical  writers  and  to  the  paganism  which 
tinged  the  revival  of  learning.  The  spirit  of  the  age  fostered 
audacious  action  and  thought,  and  the  "libertine"  worship  of  Nature 
was  soon  so  widely  spread  as  to  become  a commonplace.  The  pert  and 
uncontrollable  young  Euphues  in  Lyly's  novel  thus  replies  to  the 
admonitions  of  the  sage  old  Neapolitan,  that  he  is  following  the 


political  theory  outside  of  poetry,  mistakenly  refers  the  political 
Ideas  of  Jean  de  Meung  to  Ovid's  account  of  the  Four  Ag-es.  See 
PP.  15,  42,  52. 

1 

Chaucer  and  the  Roman  de  la  Rose.  N.  Y.  (1914). 

2 

Skeat,  W.  W.,  Chaucerian  and  Other  Pieces.  Oxford  (18S7) .pp. 287-8. 


6% 


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best  philosophers,  Cicero  and  Aristotle,  and  taking  Nature  as  his 
only  guide;  the  inconsequential  reasoning  and  inaccurate  scholar- 
ship are  in  character,  and  may  possibly  represent  the  platitudinous 
generalizations  which  must  have  passed  current  as  philosophy  in 
wide  circles.  And  in  the  chorus  to  the  first  Act  of  Aminta,  Tasso 
laments  the  passing  of  the  Age  of  Gold,  not  because  the  earth  then 
provided  sustenance  without  the  labor  of  man,  or  because  life  was 
free  from  the  misery  of  war  or  the  burdens  of  traffic, 

”Ma  sol  perch's  quel  vano 
Nome  senza  soggetto. 

Quell*  idolo  d'errori,  idol  d’inganno, 

Quel  che  dal  volgo  insane 
Onor  poscia  fu  detto, 

(Che  di  nostra  natura  *1  feo  tiranno) 

Non  mischiava  il  suo  affanno 
Fra  le  liete  dolcezze 
Dell*  amoroso  gregge; 

Ne  fu  sua  dura  legge 

Nota  a quell’  alme  in  libertate  avvezze: 

Ma  legge  aurea  e f slice, 

Che  Natura  scolpi  *S'ei  piace,  ei  lice. '**2 

Giordano  Bruno,  also,  refers  to  "quella  legge  naturals,  per  la 
quale  e licito  a ciascun  maschio  di  aver  tante  mogli,  quante  ne 
puo  nutrire  et  impregnare . " The  Libertines  of  the  Renaissance 
appropriated  Nature  as  their  goddess  and  the  Golden  Age  as  their 
ideal,  identifying  with  both  conceptions  exactly  the  freedom  and 


Lyly,  Works,  ed.  Bond.  I,  191-2. 

^Tasso,  Ope re . Pisa  (1821).  II,  37.  Cf.with  Donne’s  passage  on 
the  "golden  laws  of  nature,"  quoted  above. 

Bruno,  Giordano,  Ope  re . ed.  Wagner.  Leipzig  (1830) . II,  126. But 
Bruno  begins  the  third  dialogue  of  the  Spac c i o with  a criticism  of 
the  Golden  Age  of  Tasso  and  other  Italian  posts.  See  ed.  cit.,II, 
199-ff.  He  says,  for  example,^  "Ne  I'eta  dunque  de  I’oro  per 
I’ozio  gli  uoraini  non  erano  piu  virtuosi,  che  sin  al  presents  le 
beetle  son  virtuose,  e forse  erano  piu  stupidi,  che  molte  di 
quests."  Bruno  was  a man  of  contradictions.  Though  certain 
passages  display  a "libertine"  strain,  many  others  show  that  he 
was  imbued  with  a vigorous  ethical  feeling. 


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140 


vidu3.1i sni  wliicli  'the  Stioics  held,  scugchij  "to  coMhaij  hy  ‘their  means. 
Like  Euphues,  they  mis-read  their  Cicero  and  Aristotle;  hence  the 
apparently  paradoxical  remark  of  Du  Vair,^  that  we  must  choose 
between  the  two  irreconcilable  philosophies  of  Nature  and  Stoicism. 
But  this  sceptical  philosophy  of  Nature  resulted  in  the  Renaissance 
from  the  confluence  of  many  currents  of  thought,  medieval  and 
classical,  and  in  its  more  popular  form  was  vague  and  unformulated, 
highly  important  though  it  be  for  an  understanding  of  the  temper 
of  the  age.  Unless  accompanied  by  other  specific  ideas  and  doc- 
trines, it  can  hardly  be  traced  from  one  writer  to  another. 

As  in  his  scepticism,  so  also  in  his  naturalistic  concep- 
tion of  the  Golden  Age,  Donne's  thought  resembled  the  current 
"libertine"  ideas  of  the  Renaissance.  He  repeatedly  refers  to  the 
free  love  of  the  Golden  Age: 

"How  happy  were  our  Syres  in  ancient  times. 

Who  held  plurality  of  loves  no  crime." 

Like  other  poets  of  the  libertine  tradition  of  the  Golden  Age, 

, Donne  worshipped  in  Nature  the  Aphrodite  Pandemos,  and  appealed  to 

; other  Natural  La-ws  for  justification  of  the  liberties  forbidden  by 

, the  orthodox  principle  of  the  Law  of  Nature. 

All  the  elements,  then^of  Donne's  Pyrrhonism  were 
, current  before  him;  we  have  discussed  already  the  similarities 
and  differences  between  his  ideas  and  the  sceptical  attack  on  the 
legal  tradition  of  the  La-w  of  Nature.  What  was  lacking  there, 
namely  a rival  philosophy  of  Nature  opposed  to  the  Stoic  and  legal 
tradition,  we  have  found  in  this  degraded  form  of  the  legend  of  the 

^Quoted  in  Chapter  I,  p.  58. 


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141 


Golden  Age.  Donne  combined  this  Naturalism  with  Scepticism.  But 
here  he  had  a predecessor  in  Montaigne. 


V 


Scepticism  and  Naturalism  in  Montaigne 

How  Montaigne  arrived  at  his  philosophy  blended  of 
scepticism  and  naturalism,  has  been  admirably  set  forth  by  M.  Villey, 
to  whose  work  all  discussions  of  Montaigne  must  henceforth  be 
indebted.^  Montaigne  began  as  an  adherent  of  Stoicism,  which,  with 
Platonism,  had  been  interwoven  with  Christian  thought  and  become  a 
part  of  Renaissance  idealism  in  both  personal  and  political  ethics. 
But  Stoicism  was  not  long  to  his  taste.  His  nature  was  too  supple 
for  its  restraints,  and  too  easy  and  tolerant  to  submit  long  to  its 
discipline  or  to  feel  long  the  attractiveness  of  its  elevation. 
Montaigne  had  a generous  sympathy  with  all  human  impulses;  he  ab- 
horred life  cut  to  a pattern.  It  is  probable  therefore  that  his 
development  would  have  been  what  it  was,  though  perhaps  slower  and 
less  distinct,  had  he  never  gone  through  a definite  intellectual 
crisis.  But  his  apostacy  from  Stoicism  was  hastened  when  about 
1575  he  became  enthusiastic  over  Greek  scepticism,  as  expounded 
Hypotvooses  of  Sextus  Empiricus.  Early  in  1576  he  had  a 
medal  struck  in  honor  of  Sextus,  with  his  o>7n  image  on  the  reverse 
side.  Ten  of  the  inscriptions  in  his  library  he  took  from  the 
Hypotyposes;  from  the  same  source  he  makes  more  than  a score  of 


1 r I 

^ Villey,  Pierre,  Les  Sources  et  1 'Evolution  des  Essais  de  MontaisneJ 
2 vols.  Paris  (ISOST  — 


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borrowings  for  his  most  philosophical  essay,  the  Apology.  The 
Sceptics  he  called  "le  plus  sage  parti  des  philosophes. 

For  a short  period,  Montaigne,  under  the  influence  of  the 
philosophy  of  Sextus,  regarded  custom  and  tradition  as  his  best 
guide.  But  such  a philosophy  is  a worse  tyranny  than  Stoicism,  and 
contains  in  itself  the  acid  of  dissolution;  Montaigne  soon  passed 
'through  it,  to  his  third  and  mature  philosophy  of  individualism 
based  on  "Nature."  Nature  then  meant  to  him  primarily  his  o\m 
nature,  which  he le garde d as  his  own  unique  lawgiver.  Therefore 
he  studied  himself  more  than  any  philosophy,  his  desires,  his 
tastes,  the  needs  of  his  oto  individuality,  and  his  essays  are  the 
observations  he  made  of  his  own  physiology  and  psychology.  Dis- 
trustful of  all  speculation  in  ethical  idealism,  thoroughly 
sceptical  regarding  conventions  and  traditions,  he  followed  nature 
in  everything,  and  in  case  of  doubt,  "nature"  meant  to  him  his  own 
nature.  "I  cheerefully  and  thankefully, " he  says  in  the  last 
pages  of  his  last  essay,  "and  with  a good  heart,  accept  what 
nature  hath  created  for  me;  and  am  there  with  well  pleased,  and 
am  proud  of  it  . . . temperance  is  a moderatrix,  and  not  an  adver- 
sary of  sensualities.  Nature  is  a gentle  guide:  Yet  not  more 

gentle,  then  prudent  and  just."^  Nature  is  gentle  I That  is,  the 
nature  of  Montaigne,  a man  devoid  of  aspirations  and  spiritual 
reaches,  is  gentle.  "I  study  my  selfe  more  than  any  other  subject. 
It  is  my  supernatural!  Metaphisike,  it  is  my  naturall  Philosophy... 
Oh  how  soft,  how  gentle,  and  how  sound  a pillow  is  ignorance  and 

^Villey,  op.  cit.  I,  218. 

2 

Trans.  Florio,  Tudor  Translations.  London  (1893).  Ill,  391. 


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t ^ it  • :♦  X'  ^ r ^ ,.  .7  a «i 


^ tttai  jcr  &«' ,1 3^ 

OT'  ’.T-i' 'fifW' 41  ^ ■ ' '5* Vtf-t2-t  rttfiftfc’  'SflSr'yf' 

‘ ^ ' ‘V’'  • v'-'^  V,,'  ''''  : 

■V  ••'  ■•  *•  ’..■»  '>"*'■  V -,■  , *v  V-  ; * 

•.,  ;;•  . . .f  '•■f..,*  f '^  ' '7^®!,  ' ^'-i-  ■-' 


■ ' ’{»>  '■ -.i 


I . ;u.  .'■'■>  ;•■*•<;■  ••'.^.  ..'  y;'^'  .■ ; «••  ,-  •.  -.  . ; ^ i 

I :?'"  ■■  ■ . » :i 

e‘i  - •'  \ ■ .v:'J 

•te'"  .'^  ■’■  " “ " , ..  ••’|i 

kI  ■■  ;■  ■ ■ . ■r-«ai^:afiM.;  ^ %Z'' 


i!t. 


- -'i4<tKypt<H'  '.i>jm|q|,*Ht,  r'**'  n|iH-i»[ti.t<»iy 


/.  ■■ 


........  , .iiH|)>iH|ilMll|«fi 


143 


incuriosity  to  rest  a well  composed  head  upon.  I had  rather  under- 
stand my  selfe  well  in  my  selfe,  then  in  Cicero.”^ 

The  greatest  and  most  influential  sceptic  of  the 
Renaissance,  Montaigne  gave  classic  expression  to  all  the  libertine 
thought  of  his  age,  intellectualized  it,  and  elevated  it  to  the 
level  of  a serious  philosophy  which  educated  men  could  not  ignore. 

It  would  indeed  be  strange  if  Donne,  who  beyond  most  Englishmen  I 

of  his  time  was  eager  for  new  ideas,  such  as  the  science  of 
Galileo  and  Kepler,  should  not  in  his  youth  have  read  a work  so 
congenial  to  his  tastes  and  so  well  known  as  the  Essays.^  A refer- 
ence to  Montaigne  in  a letter  dated  by  Gosse  about  1603  or  1604 
seems  to  imply  that  Donne  had  read  him  some  time  before.^  But  the 
youth  of  Donne  is  veiled  in  obscurity,  and  only  a very  few  facts 
are  known  regarding  his  very  extensive  early  reading, We  can  at 
best  make  certain  inferences.  A University  man,  an  avid  student 
of  the  Humanities  as  well  as  Law, probably  knew  the  treatises  of 
Cicero  ^ ^ Publica  and  ^ Legibus:  as  his  interest  lay  more  in 
controversial  studies  than  in  poetry  and  belles-lettres,  it  is 
unlikely  that  Donne  read  so  thoroughly  as  to  be  acquainted  with 
T^  Romance  of  the  Rose . and  he  may  not  have  read  Lucret ius;possibly; 

i 

1 

gFlorio,  ed.  cit.  Ill,  338-S. 

1595  a translation  of  the  Essays  was  licensed  for  pub- 
lication, and  Florio’s  was  licensed  in  1600.  The  real  popularity 
of  Montaigne  is  indicated  by  early  imitations,  by  Bacon  in  1597  and 
by  Cornwallis  in  1600.  The  latter  knew  Montaigne  only  through  manu-| 
script  translations  which  evidently  circulated  widely  before  the 
publication  of  Florio's  translation  in  1603.  Lee,  Sidney,  The 
Frengh  pnaissance  in  England,  N.Y.  (1910).  pp.  165-ff.  John  Donne 
could  of  course  read  the  original. 

. .Michel  Montaigne  says  he  hath  seen  (as  I remem.ber)  400 
volumes  of  Italian  letters.”  Gosse.  Life  and  Letters  of  John 
Donne.  I,  122. 

Grierson,  op.  cit.  II,  1-6. 


i 


■..IV 


he  had  read  Tasso's  Aminta.  inasmuch  as  he  knew  Dante,  Aretino  and  | 
Ariosto.  But  none  of  these  possible  sources  of  Donne’s  " Liber tiniari’l 
offer  so  complete  a parallel  to  Donne's  thought  as  Montainge,  nor  [ 
did  any  of  them  lie  more  directly  in  his  path.  Such  conjectures,  | 
however,  are  slender  evidence,  and  Donne’s  discipleship  to  Montaigne 
must  remain  a probability  only,  each  reader  forming  his  own  opinion. 
As  to  the  similarity  of  their  ideas,  although  it  has  never  been 
pointed  out,  there  can  be  no  question. 

In  the  first  place,  Montaigne's  study  of  Sextus  had  com- 
pletely emancipated  him  from  rational  idealism,  from  belief  in  any 
universal  moral  truth  ascertainable  by  reason.  His  scepticism  is 
definitely  expounded  in  his  early  essay  on  Custom,  where  he  says, 
for  example,  that 

"the  lawes  of  conscience,  which  we  say  to  proceed 
from  nature,  rise  and  proceed  of  custome:  every  man 
holding  in  special  regard,  and  inward  veneration 
the  opinions  approved,  and  customes  received  about 
him,  cannot  without  remorse  leave  them,  nor  without 
applause  applie  himselfe  unto  thera."^ 

In  his  Apoloaie  of  Raymond  Sebpnd,  he  submits  all  m.ethods  and  means 

of  knowledge  to  a systematic  criticism  based  on  principles  drawn 

from  the  Hypotyuoses:  his  remarks  on  the  theory  of  the  Law  of 

Nature  are  especially  scathing: 

"What  goodness  is  that,"  he  asks,  "which  but 
yesterday  I saw  in  sredit  and  esteerae,  and  to 
morrow,  to  have  lost  all  reputation,  and  that  the 
crossing  of  a River,  is  made  a crime?  What  truth 
is  that,  which  these  Mountains s bound, 
and  is  a lie  in  the  World  beyond  them?  But  they 
are  pleasant,  when  to  allo7\r  the  Laws  some  certailiet ie , 
they  say,  that  there  be  some  firms,  perpetuall  and 
immoveable, which  they  call  naturall,  and  by  the  con- 
dition of  their  proper  essence,  are  imprinted  in 
mankind:  of  which  some  make  three  in  number,  some 


/ ., 


'^n/ ; ii  r^I  ^ •• 

..'"■  '-■■■'  -f  1 ■’■<•  ' 


■-■**;  K 


:b?.'^^'|? 5;  -V>--b0^t  '4 


R fH  : 


7 t,‘  •'%  w 

iu 

, g».  * .*■  •■  _ ^.- 


f.  1 


A'4.bll 


'-  ' 'i  ■*'  y ^IP'  * '**^'1  "^  ■ I f’  ' "’  ' J*"’”  y^iT-  \~.rw  -. ^ 

• ■.ii;->jy 'jf. Alt'  'v.,'?bfei ? 

',  ,^*>  '■-  ■ ■•  T^i.  ?*^«3  . . r-  ' ■,#i?^  "iifl ' ■i<.''''r:‘>.va'T«ii<r - .;fflji ^ 


U-;  -.  2v4e  , 'tf._ r?;^^V;  ^^^-SK4i: 


A > 


'U-  ' r ■'' 

h[  V, 


^ •— r-^  V^II»;l<t>»'llif»^li|||l'W'l'*WW»l'»'l>'^  t,— 


,'1/^71]* 


145 


foure,  some  more,  some  lesse:  an  evident  token, 
that  it  is  a marke  as  douhtfull  as  the  rest."^ 

A few  pages  further  on  he  presents  the  Sceptical  explanation  of  the 

supposedly  sacred  laws  of  society,  with  a pertinent  illustration: 

"Lawes  take  their  authoritie  from  possession  and 
customer  It  is  dangerous  to  reduce  them  to  their 
beginning:  In  rov/ling  on,  they  swell,  and  grow  greater 

and  greater,  as  doe  our  rivers:  follow  the’m  upward, 

unto  their  source,  and  you  shall  find  them  but  a 
bubble  of  water,  scarce  to  be  discerned,  which  in 
gliding  on  swelleth  so  proud,  and  gathers  so  much 
strength.  Behold  the  ancient  considerations, 
which  have  given  the  first  motion  to  this  fam.ous 
torrent,  so  full  of  dignitie,  of  honour  and  rever- 
ence, you  shall  find  them  so  light  and  weake,  that 
these  men  which  will  weigh  all,  and  complaine  of 
reason,  and  who  receive  nothing  upon  trust  and 
authoritie,  it  is  no  wonder  if  their  judgements 
are  often  far-distant  from  common  judgement.  Men 
that  take  Natures  first  image  for  a patterns,  it 
is  no  marvaile,  if  in  most  of  their  opinions,  they 
misse  the  common-beaten  path.  As  for  example;  few 
amongst  them  would  have  approved  the  forced  con- 
ditions of  our  marriages  and  most  of  them  would 
have  had  women  in  community,  and  without  any 
private  respect. "2 


But  as  a substitute  for  the  Law  of  Nature,  Montaigne, 
like  Donne,  developed  another  philosophy  of  Nature.  "I  have  taken 
for  my  regard  this  ancient  precept,  very  rawly  and  simply:  That 

'We  cannot  erre  in  following  Nature':  and  that  the  soveraigne 
document  is,  for  a man  to  conforme  himselfe  to  her.”^  He  was  in 


I 

^Florio,  ed.  cit.  II,  305. 

'^Florio,  ed.  cit.  II,  307.  With  this  passage  compare  especially 
the  following  lines  from  Donne's  Elegy  XVII : 

"Our  liberty's  revers'd,  our  Charter's  gone. 

And  we're  made  servants  to  opinion, 

A monster  in  no  certain  shape  attir'd. 

And  whose  originall  is  much  desir'd, 

Formlesse  at  first,  but  goeing  on  it  fashions. 

And  doth  prescribe  manners  and  laws  to  nations. 

Here  love  receiv'd  immedicable  harms  ..." 

^^Florio,  ed.  cit.  I II,  323 . 


i 


bf] 


^ . iSi  .. ' -v;'  1 ,..  ;:V'i.  , 

^ V **>^V!., . ^^;•cri•i4i  ‘.  •.'• . ^4;  (s<t  r >v  ijp^,t  *ijtj 

L ■■  %' K \M  ' - .■"  y-^ 

^—.‘^  ' ■ • ',<  ( ' ;■  . \*  * 0^'  ' 'l  ^ ' ' ■ »j(j  ^^  '"^''/l 

B*.  \dy  ,T4a':  >iK5at. ';  ,atrc$ / 

^■: ; '•  V - ..  ‘'iKS  ._  • -rf\  .:;>  ■• . ,i4;>"’.:-.  • « ?- j^ 

SSir  ■-'  .w'x  ■V>^"-j:  '.  ‘ •>'3Sot 

. .'T:, '>■"■' 

. 4\-..'  'i  :i^, 

5t'W'  L.t  T f •'■  Itm . .A  » - -Nf/l 


accord  with  the  libertine  tradition,  and  with  John  Donne,  too, 
in  finding  this  simple  and  uncorrupted  Nature  in  the  Golden  Age, 
in  what  he  regarded  as  a survival  of  that  blissful  period,  the 
savage  state.  The  laws  of  civilization  are  too  numerous  and 
artificial.  "I  believe  it  were  better  to  have  none  at  all,  then 
so  infinite  a number  as  we  have.  Nature  gives  them  ever  more 
happy,  then  those  we  give  our  selves.  Witnesse  the  image  of  the 
golden  age  that  poets  faine;  and  the  state  wherein  we  see  divers 
nations  to  live,  which  have  no  other. His  famous  essay  on 
Cannibals  is  an  apotheosis  of  primitive  life,  at  the  expense  of 
civilization. 

"Those  nations  seeme  therefore  so  barbarous  to  me," 
he  says,  "because  they  have  received  very  little 
fashion  from  humane  wit,  and  are  yet  nee re  their 
originall  naturalitie.  The  lawes  of  nature  doe 
yet  command  them,  which  are  but  little  bastardized 
by  ours,  and  that  with  such  pur i tie,  as  I am  some- 
times grieved  the  knowledge  of  it  came  no  sooner 
to  light,  at  what  time  there  were  men,  that  better 
than  we  could  have  judged  of  it.  I am  sorie, 

Lycurgus  and  Plato  had  it  not:  for  me  seemeth 
that  what  in  those  nations  we  see  by  experience, 
doth  not  only  exceed  all  the  pictures  wherewith 
licentious  Poesie  hath  proudly  imbellished  the 
golden  age,  and  all  her  quaint  inventions  to  faine 
a happy  condition  of  man,  but  also  the  conception 
and  desire  of  Philosophy.  They  could  not  imagine 
a genuitie  so  pure  and  simple,  as  we  see  it  by 
experience;  nor  ever  beleeve  our  societie  might 
be  maintained  with  so  little  art  and  humane  com- 
bination. It  is  a nation,  would  I answer  Plato, 
that  hath  no  kinds  of  traffike,  no  knowledge  of 
Letters,  no  intelligence  of  numbers,  no  name  of 
magistrate,  nor  of  politike  superioritie ; no  use 
of  service,  of  riches  or  of  povertie;  no  contracts, 
no  successions,  no  partitions,  no  occupations  but 
idle;  no  respect  of  kindred,  but  common,  no 
apparell  but  naturall,  no  manuring  of  lands, 
no  use  of  wine,  corne,  or  mettel.  The  very 


^Florio,  ed.  cit.  Ill,  329. 


,-  ® ‘'f  ' tr-V'h^  ■"  " ' ^ ■'  ‘'P^r  ' ' / ' 

L,  ^ ..-  mm  ^ 


f ^r-"  *'  rtf*  I-  ^ 'Cf’ii  .-*  1^  ■ -.#1,%*  . 1^  ^ » , ,V#i  3 ■' <L  .,•  'V  t.’f’^j*'' 


iiM 


i-^  m 


147 


■firords  that  import  lying,  falshood,  treason, 
dissimulations,  covetousness,  envie,  detraction, 
and  pardon,  were  never  heard  of  amongst  them. 

How  dissonant  would  hee  finde  his  imaginarie 
commonwealth  from  this  perfection!”^ 


Montaigne  does  not  fail  to  give  warm  praise,  too,  to  primitive 
matrimonial  arrangements. 


"Their  men  have  many  wives,  and  by  how  much 
more  they  are  reputed  valiant,  so  much  the  greater 
is  their  number.  The  manner  and  beaut ie  of  their 
marriages  is  wondrous  strange  and  remarkable:  For, 
the  same  jealousie  our  wives  have  to  keeps  us  from 
the  love  and  affection  of  other  women,  the  same 
have  theirs  to  procure  it.  Being  more  carefull 
for  their  husbands  honour  and  content,  than  of 
any  thing  else:  They  endevour  and  apply  all  their 
industrie,  to  have  as  many  rivals  as  possibly, 
they  can,  forasmuch  as  it  is  a testimonie  of 
their  husbands  vertue.  Our  women  would  count 
it  a wonder,  but  it  is  not  so:  It  is  a vertue 

properly  Matrimoniall . 


The  Nature  which  guided  Montaigne,  ’we  suspect,  was  excessively 
gentle.  And  there  may  be  disadvantages  in  understanding  oneself 
in  oneself  rather  than  in  Cicero! 

Thus  Montaigne  had,  before  Donne,  brought  together  the 
two  philosophies.  Scepticism  and  Naturalism,  which  characterized 
the  "Libertine"  tradition.  To  this  tradition  or  school,  John  Donne 
for  a time  belonged,  and  Montaigne  seems  most  likely  to  have  been 
his  master.  Perhaps  he  never  was  a perfect  disciple.  His  "queasy 
pain  of  being  beloved  and  loving"  was  a sign  of  a restlessness,  a 
dissatisfaction,  which  would  of  itself  have  led  him  beyond  the 


Florio,  ed.  cit.  I,  222.  Shakespeare  borrows  this  Rousseauistic 
passage,  but,  significantly,  only  for  the  purposes  of  comedy; 

Gonzalo  plays  with  the  idea  a moment  and  then  flings  it  aside  as 
"merry  fooling."  Tempest , II,  i. 

Florio,  ed.  cit.  Ill,  329. 


I 


f / 


If 


■It 


xx*^  ii.-fo«f‘ 


?>* 


Ms? 


i::c/ 

?-?  '^Cf . %¥ *^';. 0 ..  V| 'f4' i.  X ■ 
-a  'vi‘'  >:  '’■>!'■, 'Mg  "■'  i;;.,  ■ . 


U- . .4 » ■■.  ’ 4 V . ’.^ 

^VI  „ y 


148 


boundaries  of  the  ./yorld  of  Montaigne;  he  had  deep  needs  that 
Montaigne  could  never  have  understood;  his  intellectual  and 
spiritual  life  began  at  the  place  where  Montaigne’s  ended.  But 
whatever  his  later  development,  it  is  clear  that  the  ideas  which 
fascinated  the  youthful  Donne  are  identical  with  the  thought  of 
Montaigne's  maturity. 


VI 


Continuations  in  the  Seventeenth  Century 

Montaigne  became  the  ”livre  de  chevet"  of  the  "libertines" 
in  France  as  well  as  in  England.  From  him,  and  from  his  disciple 
Charron,  they  drew  a light  and  superficial  philosophy,  sufficient 
to  give  the  spice  of  a cynical  sophistication  to  their  pleasures 
and  poetry.  Like  their  great  master,  they  questioned  all  moral 
idealism  and  would  follow  only  "gentle"  Nature.  The  foremost  of 
them,  The^'ophile,  imitated  perfectly  both  the  temper  and  ideas  of 
Montaigne : 

"J'approuve  qu'un  chacun  suive  en  tout  la  nature; 

Son  empire  est  plaisant  et  sa  loi  n'est  pas  dure.... 

Je  pense  que  chacun  auroit  assez  d' esprit 
Suivant  le  libre  train  que  nature  prescrit.... 

Ne  t ' oppose  jamais  aux  droits  de  la  nature. 

Garasse  was  therefore  correct  in  his  formulation  of  the  ideas  of 
the  beaux-e snrits : 

"II  n'y  a point  d' autre  divinite""  ny  puissance 
souveraine  au  monde  que  la  NATURE,  laquelle  il 
faut  contenter  en  toutes  choses,  sans  rien  refuser 


Thd^ophile,  Oeuvres  Completes,  ed.  Alleaume.  Paris  (1866). 
Notice . Ixvi . 


f #?’  ' <.  ' ;'■'  , ■ I.  ' •'  s--’'i  '%  ”/ 1.'  ■ n?  . 

ak’iT^^ 

' f »f‘’^i?L''  ■' ■ '“  '' ^4)  ’ ^ >>'  *i:<'i#L'^W  ' f*  X ' 

t t^'t-  : '■  'v‘t' 1^4- 1 fl  Jt»o hoj 

''Ji  lfc'J**-''  . . i»  ta«(j:  . ' Cs-5  a a’I *1.2  &dr‘  "U  f ^ 


' »-  » ^ i ■■  • V?  j -3^4  ^ ■"“  V’  ^4  ’ 

\ .ei,.  H >r4i^*‘404;3w^^;ia7.£l\8M 


^':i  .*7fp  i.fciim 

i*'  ■'  ■ * ',,■.  - ' .-iv  i' 


. 'a. 


I 


* .4 


>-finr#-^'.  sJfiK.f:*;:; 


>->ss 


,i?-;-.  

"<■  -f^  ,-v 


,;i  i fi ^\*  T r . ' />  t.:?  f 3'<lS^.' ; n't  • 


t ..^ 


r ^ 

V*.  . •"■>  - ’'  ‘ ',S-Mt.^ 

K>'  - ■ ' l‘i  f'-  ->  ■'•  ■'•<.•  V 


I '•■  f- MVi  - fci  ■ . ‘4a 


l'  U'  .'•  ■’'■  - "'  ^ ':< ‘t ' ' ' fa 

1 ‘ ' •^'30'  '•  ■■  ^ "«&•*' '.  - -'■  ■*-'•  *'V'/ A>%  ’‘i^  'tS', 

iJ  ■■■•  ■."'  . -• 

U J [ 1 .Mt  •■  *;  '‘v  v|4»^  i r*'«»f «tjM?.  • '. «icf^|{',.iSLjfi :-'a 

’’'  •’lii  y *♦  \ , , • ,'■'  •.  , < ,'>■ -f4,p  p A ' 4 

^ , 4'  f.  ■ 'li . '' 4 .,-*n  ^ J:" 


^-  ''ho  h-\i  •.Jfr’tf o •s5a3^ ‘ 

r..‘  ; . .'  \?  .-rtif 


iii 


* , '•  > 1^'  >..■,  ri*.’.‘* 

lo  t’  'ic  i' ©ii'r,  'njf 

* 1'  • „ “ '■^•1,  ■Kj*.  . - .;  ■ ' «r'»_.4.4U 


'W'^viAlP:  ? ^ ,*f  ■ / r ® ■ 


s / ■ ,■;...  > . . '.  .4  ’ '"-  . , ’•  ® i 

•',  * /’  *’  ' J ej  ' |»  ■ ■ ’.TJff"  '■  .-;_p^  * '»■■•-■ 


/.  V 


T *•,'*•< 


r» ' 


I r I 


C i'WJ'  1 ' ■'* 

*i  ,1» 

- " '"  ■■  '^  r rLyTfm 


iiin 


a nostre  corps  ou 'k  nos  sens  de  ce  qu'ils  desirent 
de  nous  en  I'exercice  de  leurs  puissances  et 
facultez  naturelle s . 


Ideas  usually  lose  some  of  their  definiteness  in  crossing 
the  channel  into  England,  and  libertine  Naturalism  is  not  so  easily 
disengaged  for  purposes  of  historical  treatment  from  the  English 
poetry  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Nevertheless  it  was  there,  and  | 
gave,  as  in  France,  the  air  of  philosophical  sagacity  to  the 
sophistication  and  scepticism  which  the  gay  and  licentious  courts 
of  the  Stuarts  especially  affected.  The  verse  of  Theophile  was  not 
unknown  in  England,  where  he  spent  his  two  years  of  exile. ^ And 
Montaigne  was  of  course  as  popular  there  as  in  France.  The  immense 
prestige  of  Donne  up  to  the  Restoration  familiarized  poets  with  his 
audacious  verse,  some  of  which  they  directly  imitated. 

A few  quotations  will  illustrate  how  scepticism  in  ethics 
combined  with  Naturalistic  conceptions  of  love,  was  a quite  defin- 
ite tradition  in  certain  circles  of  seventeenth  century  England, 

In  Daniel's  Ulysses  and  the  Siren  (1605),  the  Siren  replies  to  the 
argument  of  Ulysses,  that  "pleasure  leaves  a touch  at  last  to  show 
that  it  was  ill":  ! 


Theophile,  ed.  cit.  Notice . xl.  A sufficient  number  of  pieces 
lustif icatives  c^an  be  foun^  in  the  verse  of  the  e sprits  libre s 
published  by  Frederic  Lachevre,  in  Proces  du  Pobte  Theophile 
de  Viau.  Paris  (1909).  II,  305-419.  Perrens  has  sho.’m,  in  his  work 
previously  referred  to,  the  pervasiveness  of  libertine  thought  in 
France  in  the  seventeenth  century;  and  in  his  concliision  he  quotes 
two  apt  illustrations  from  Voltaire  and  Diderot.  Op. cit.  p.495. 

2 

Cotton  imitated  him.  See  Sembower,  C.  J.,  Life  and  Poetry  of 
Charles  Cotton.  N.  Y.  (1911) . pp.  88-94. 

For  instance,  Francis  Beaumont's  The  Indifferent  and  Love ' s 
Ere e dome : Goe  catch  a star,  in  7/its  Recreations  (l640)  ; and  Carew's 
Rapture . 


“ >1 


f wW  xvi  ^ 


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t ^ .-mA-rST-..  .-•J  ■*  .••  / •-  Si  ^ .'  ' ^ .4.,.Cf  : '£  . 1-1  • i." 


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a.',,.  id  ''■; 

’ st^jc5't%," ‘dl  X'"ii 


•'  ■•'  I!  ■ ’I  ■ • -*■  i >■  '■ ' ■;  • 7-i!  ' ' 

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/L,;v.vw;>4ri  ■/  : I 


150l 


"That  doth  opinion  only  cause 
That's  out  of  custom  bred, 

Which  makes  us  many  other  laws 
Than  ever  Nature  did." 

Milton's  Comus  has  no  skill  in  sceptical  dialect  is,  but  he  shares 
the  Naturalistic  hedonism  of  some  of  Milton’s  contemporaries. 
"Imposter,"  cries  the  Lady  in  reply  to  him, 


"do  not  charge  most  innocent  Nature 
As  if  she  would  her  children  should  be  riotous 
With  her  abundance." 


In  the  drama,  John  Ford  is  distinguished  for  his  sympathy  with 

libertine  ethics,  which  he  combined  with  a sentimental  and  attenu- 
1 

ated  Platonism.  Thomas  Carew,  to  his  credit,  sensibly  objects 
in  two  poems  to  a naturalistic  code  of  morals  for  mankindj  his 
objection  is  of  course  additional  proof  that  the  idea  was  current.^ 
And  in  Dryden's  Sigismonda  and  Guisoardo  the  heroine  defends  her 
conduct  by  distinguishing  between  man-made  laws  and  the  primitive 


Sherman,  S.  P. , Ford' s ' Tis  Pity  and  the  Broken  He  art.  Boston 

. Introduction.  Of. Lee,  Vernon,  The  Italy  of  the  Elizabethan 
dramatists . in  Euphorion,  London  (1899) . Professor  Sherman  points 
out  the  analogy  between  Ford's  'Tis  Pity  and  Canaoe  "e  Macareo.  a 
tragedy  of  incest  by  Sperone  Speroni,  and  thinks  the  Italian  play 
may  have  been  Ford's  source.  His  summary  of  Speroni 's  defence  of 
nis  play  is  worth  quoting  here,  as  showing  in  conjunction  all  the 
traditions  discussed  in  this  chapter: 

"Speroni  reminds  his  hearers  of  two  arguments  urged 
by  Dejopeja,  wife  of  Eolo.  The  children  did  not  deserve 
death,  she  maintained,  first,  because  they  had  merely 
done  per  forza  what  the  gods  do  per  volonta  in  heaven; 
second,  because  they  had  done  that  in  the  Iron  Age  which 
was  permitted  in  the  innocent  Age  of  Gold.  This  position 
is  supported  by  a multitude  of  references  to  the  poets. 

Then  glancing  at  the  customs  of  the  ancient  Persians  and 
Egyptians,  Speroni  comes  to  a point  of  distinct  coinci- 
dence with  Ford,  namely,  that  the  union  of  brother  and 
sister  is  forbidden,  not  by  nature  but  by  the  laws, and 
^ not  even  by  all  laws."  Introduction,  li-lii. 

Carew,  Poems . Muses ' Library . pp.  160,163. 


■S  ' ■ 


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iS^v.  , '-'  . / ■•*•  ,„'-  :i?»^ii^‘|kt#4-«ft  jw**gg^ 


laws  of  Nature . 


151  j 

In  the  light  of  this  libertine  tradition  which  existed 
before  and  after  Donne,  we  can  appreciate  something  of  what  went  on 
in  the  mind  of  the  young  student  of  law  who,  as  Courthope  said, 
was  a sceptic  in  religion  and  a revolutionist  in  love.  The  origi- 
nality of  his  singularly  modern  ideas  is  only  apparent;  they  were 
in  fact  the  current  thought  of  a definite  Renaissance  school  of 
Scepticism  and  Naturalism.  We  have  traced  briefly  the  origins  and 
development  of  this  school,  and  suggested  how  large  a part  it 
played  in  making  the  tone  and  temper  of  the  Renaissance  and  seven- 
teenth century.  With  this  school  the  learned  Donne  in  some  way 
came  in  contact,  very  likely  in  Montaigne  as  well  as  elsewhere. 

With  these  "libertine”  ideas  he  played,  at  times  gayly  and  lightly, 
at  times  more  seriously  and  cynically.  From  them  he  was  converted, 
biographers  seem  to  agree,  chiefly  by  his  marriage;  but  his  own 
nature  must  have  been  too  deeu,  too  susceptible  to  idealism,  to 
have  long  remained  a worshipper  of  the  earthly  Aphrodite.  Yet  his 
youthful  scepticism  profoundly  influenced  him.  The  saint  was 
a different  saint  for  having  passed  through  his  youthful  period  of 
hard  living  and  hard  thinking.  He  must  have  acquired  some  of 
Pascal's  sense  of  ”les  grandeurs  et  mi seres  de  I'homme.”  And 
as  Pascal  appropriated  the  scepticism  and  cynicism  of  the  French 
libertine  movement  and  turned  them  to  the  uses  of  a profound  and 
noble  religious  feeling,  one  asks  if  this  saintly  divine,  too, 
had  learned  in  his  early  years  of  doubt  and  groping  some  of  his 
passionate  awareness  of  his  miserableness  and  his  need  of  divine 
support.  If  our  historical  study  has  made  Donne  more  clearly  a 


. '<''f 


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man  of  his  o'm  time,  a typical  Renaissance  sceptic,  yet  the 
study  of  his  whole  life  should  possess  an  intrinsic  value,  .also, 
in  giving  us  an  insight  into  some  of  the  workings  of  human  nature, 


and  a measure  of  the  adequacy  of  the  naturalistic  philosophy  which 
is  widely  current  even  in  our  awn  day. 


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1 


CHAPTER  FOUR 


DAVIES'  NQSCE  TEIPSUM  AND  THE  IDEALISTIC  TRADITION 


I.  Suggested  Sources  of  Nosce  Teiosum. - II.  Precursors  of 
Davies.-  III.  Parallels  from  Primaudaye  and  Others.-  IV. 

The  Obsolete  Rationalism  of  Davies. 

In  the  last  decade  of  the  sixteenth  century,  while  Donne 
was  living  his  somewhat  turbulent  youth  and  writing  his  Songs  and 
Elegies,  another  member  of  the  Inns  of  Court,  John  Davies,  was  like- 
wise leading  the  free  and  reckless  life  of  a gallant  and  winning 
for  himself,  by  his  caustic  and  free-spoken  epigrams,  the  title  of 
the  "English  Martial."^  About  1594  he  had  also  performed  the  feat 
of  writing  Orchestra  in  fifteen  days,  a long  fantastic  poem  in 
praise  of  dancing,  a "suddaine,  rash,  half-capreol  of  my  wit," 
rem.arkable  chiefly  for  its  ease  and  mastery  of  versification.  It 
was  dedicated  to  a friend,  Richard  Martin.  But  for  some  reason 
the  two  friends  fell  out,  and  Davies  broke  a bastinado  over  the  head 
of  Martin  while  the  latter  was  seated  at  dinner  at  the  Barristers' 
Table.  In  February,  1598,  Davies  was  disbarred  by  unanimous  sen- 
tence, and  withdrew  to  Oxford.  His  disgrace  seems  to  have  weighed 
heavily  on  him,.  But  he  soon  produced  a poem,  Nosce  Telnsum.  pub- 
lished in  1599  with  a dedication  to  the  Queen,  which  not  only  gave 
him  a legal  career  of  distinction  by  bringing  him  to  the  attention 

1 

See  an  epigram  by  Guilpin,  E.,  in  Skialetheia  (1598).  Quoted  by 

Grosart  in  The  Complete  Poems  of  Sir  John  Davies,  London  (1876) . 
il,  9.  ~~ 


, » 


TilfXv|t  •; 

,♦  * .-  ^ 


‘ ' -'•■i.  - ' '-  ■ , *►■  ■ ' -i 


•v 

ir 


: '(sei:>^^  ;Ji«JdA3ai  ■% 


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VC 


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-■  t.  - ■ ,. . ■•  ff^  l. 


i 


^ ti/.'.  •■^.  . 1 J' _ . / . '■  *-  .j,.  - .--  ^ 

' - ■ • ■■■^  :'fM 


'f 


154 


of  James  I,  but  made  his  name  famous  in  English  literature.  His 
' error  and  disgrace  proved  to  be  his  good  fortune. 

Nosce  Teipsum  is  philosophy  in  verse.  It  consists  of  two 
; distinct  parts:  the  first,  comparatively  brief  and  apparently 
' introductory,  discusses  the  limitations  of  human  knowledge;  the 
j second  and  main  section  is  a demonstration  of  the  immortality  of 
j the  soul  from,  the  immateriality  of  its  nature  and  functions.  In 
5 his  exposition  Davies  proceeds  systematically  and  logically.  He 
i begins  with  a discussion  of  the  nature  of  the  soul  and  its  connec- 
: ^ tion  with  the  body,  the  object  being  to  distinguish  the  soul  from. 

: j the  material  substance  with  which  it  is  so  intimately  combined.  In 
i;  regard  to  the  origin  of  the  soul  he  discusses  the  two  theories 

f 

^ I debated  in  his  day,  whether  each  soul  is  created  successively  by 

, I God  or  whether  it  is  the  offspring  of  the  parental  souls.  In  the 

I f description  of  each  sense  and  faculty  he  never  misses  an  opportunity 
I i to  point  out  the  supra-sensual  elements  of  knowledge.  After  he  has 
in  this  way  described  the  soul,  he  passes  to  argument,  elaborating 

1' 

; ..  on  six  reasons  for  believing  the  soul  immortal.  Five  objections 

; by  the  sceptics  are  then  refuted,  and  the  poem  closes  with  a trium- 

I 

j phant  acclamation,  a warning  to  make  our  lives  worthy  of  the 
i [;  marvellous  nature  with  which  we  are  endowed.  The  whole  poem  is 

I 

thus  in  effect  an  argument,  a defense  of  one  of  the  central  ideas 
j I' of  religious  thought.  As  such,  what  is  its  originality  and  intrin- 
I sic  value?  And  how  is  it  related  to  the  thought  of  the  sixteenth 
|:  ; century?  Was  Davies  engaged  in  stemming  the  tide  of  scepticism 

which  was  sweeping  over  the  world?  Was  he  aware  of  the  nature  and  I 
strength  of  that  opposition  which  was  gathering  in  the  camps  of  the  | 
libertines  and  materialists?  The  answer  must  be  sought  in  a study 


R'V ^ ' ■ *'  ■'  '■'  . ?■ -M  H r''’^'^il®':'^’i  | 

k jL.-,!!^ ■■  ■>  • •’*'■  • ■ i ^<5  )”  .t’ 'i‘  ' ? . t .. -^v  ^nis  'i,'s''',i  ■ f’.  ^ 

.1  'IKm  .\  i"  tii .'  '-t.  ‘ * . . * . ^ --1  ’ . ’**.*'*  ■■*'  & !■..  ^ ■ IiajimIa 


liil: 


of  Renaissance  thought  as  well  as  of  the  tone  and  structure  of 
the  poem  itself.  And,  as  in  the  case  of  the  sceptical  Donne,  a 
study  of  the  intellectual  conflict  in  which  Davies  was  involved 
may  not  only  illuminate  his  o^wn  powem,  but  also  make  clear  another 
phase  of  the  work  of  scepticism  as  a liberating  force  in  the 
Renaissance,  in  the  transition  from  Medieval  to  Modern  thought. 


Suggested  Sources  of  Nosce  Teipsum 

As  philosophical  poetry  is  usually  derivative,  a number 
of  scholars  have  looked  for  the  sources  of  the  ideas  which  Davies 
wove  into  his  popular  poem.  The  earliest  suggestion  was  made  in 
1786,  in  a private  letter,  by  a certain  Alexander  Dalrymple,  Esq., 
who  had  picked  up  Wither' s translation  of  Nemesius  D^  Natura 
Hominis.  "by  which  I find,"  he  wrote,  "Sir  John  Davies's  poem  on 
the  Immortality  of  the  Soul  is  chiefly  taken  from  Nemesius."^ 
Grosart,  on  behalf  of  the  author  he  edited,  denied  this  charge  as 
"absolutely  untrue,  an  utter  delusion,"  and  claimed  for  Davies  the 

p 

merit  of  "deep  and  original  thought."  But  only  a few  years  after 
Grosart 's  edition,  another  scholar,  Mary  A.  Ward,  expressed  doubts 
as  to  the  originality  of  Nosce  Te ipsum. 


"Some  handbook  of  Christian  philosophy,"  she 
thought,  "seems  to  have  fallen  in  the  author's  way 
during  a year  of  retirement  at  Oxford,  — possibly 
the  De_  Natura  Hominis  of  Nemesius,  of  which  Wither 


Nichols,  John,  Illustrations  of  the  Literary  History  of  the 
Eighteenth  Century,  London  (1822).  IV,  54S-550. 

^Davies,  ed.  cit.  Memorial  - Introduction,  pp.  lix-ff. 


HJSir  ■ "V  r ■ ' . ■ ^v:,  '^■■ 'N/  • ^' 

I ■ ''■:%'  ',  , ‘-  •"*  !<.  -*fj3  * . •.  .■  if7;\I  * » ^ 


i^y 


^iSi^  , 

" \^,: ; msi  ».u aT  • -srjct^ fe?*-  >, .& 

II'*  ■'  .V-  ‘ '■'  ■■  . l.‘‘'^“i 


■ i?  V 


r-*  • I ' ■ ^k'yjf-  f 'T^’"  ' 


, ' , , . ^ V ' " ' . , . „ ■;' , - yf.  ■; .;  „: 

. , j^  %% p^f)- . , ,% ' sfr 7 twi st^,;  rio I'iit 


156 


published  an  English  translation  in  1636,  — 
and  the  text  suited  a sobered  mood,  while  it 
offered  an  opportunity  for  rehabilitating  a reputa- 
tion shaken  by  youthful  folly  and  extravagance.”-^ 

More  recently  Courthope  also  concluded  that  there  could  be  no 

doubt 

”that,  before  setting  to  work  on  his  poem,  Davies 
had  deeply  studied  the  subject  as  a whole  in  the 
most  authoritative  text-books  of  philosophy  and 
theology,  nor  that  in  some  of  these,  notably 
Nemesius'  De_  Matura  Hominis . he  found  the  sugges- 
tion of  the  organic  ideas  on  which  his  composition 
is  built.  On  the  other  hand,  the  order  and  method 
of  the  argument,  the  beauty  of  the  illustrations, 
and  the  harmony  and  dignity  of  the  versification 
are  his  own,  and  in  view  of  the  profundity  and 
difficulty  of  his  subject,  it  will  be  generally 
allowed  that  the  poet's  mastery  of  his  materials 
raises  Nosce  Te insum,  as  far  at  least  as  the  art 
is  concerned,  to  the  same  rank  as  the  ^ Rer-um 
Natura:  in  imagination,  of  course,  neither 
Davies  nor  any  other  didactic  poet  can  compare 
with  Lucretius.”^ 


In  a volume  devoted  exclusively  to  a study  of  the  poem,  Mr.  E.  H. 
Sneath  maintained  that  Davies  was  influenced  by  four  thinkers,  — 
■Aristotle,  Cicero,  Nemesius  and  Calvin.^  The  latest  student  of 
Davies  agrees  with  Grosart  in  denying  any  influence  of  Nemesius, 
but  thinks  that  the  ideas  of  Davies  were  derived  from  a study  of 
Aristotle's  D^  Anima  and  modified  by  a reading  of  religious 
- commentators,  especially  Thomas  Aquinas."^  Her  statement  of  these 
conclusions  is  worth  quoting  for  a revealing  passage  in  it: 

pWard,  The  English  Poets . I,  549. 

^Courthope,  Hist . of  Eng.  Poetry . Ill,  57-8. 

^Sneath,  E.  Hershey,  Philosophy  in  Poetry.  New  York  (1903) . 
Seemann,  Margarete,  Sir  John  Davies . Sein  Leben  und  Seine  Werke . 
Wiener  Beitr^ge.  Vol.  XLI  TIM'S ) . pp 23-24. 


E*«*.*^ 


•.-■Li 


^■  •■-  ' ' ■ -j 


Wy'  Ik'' ■ ^..  , , 7#^^'  il<■*^tf':ft/!  - f:  r..^'>l  "'■‘U ' ^ >4 

IZ»-.  Uv  . .^*"  . , . '^  Ht'-i.  JL  ..-..-u-k' .V -■!  y i 


157 


"Tats^chlich  finden  wir  in  'Nosce  Teipsum*  einen 
deutlichen  Anschlusz  an  Aristotles  und  mit  den 
Ausspr-fichen  dieses  Philosophen  verflochten  die 
religios-philosophischen  Ansichten  der  Aristoteles- 
forscher,  namentlich  des  Thomas  von  Aquino. 

Uebrigens  waren  es  nicht  allgemein  bekannte  philoso- 
phisohe  Aussp ruche , die  Davies  in  seinem  Gediohte 
aneinanderreihte  (my  italics)  . vielmehr  hat  ihm  ein 
besonderes  Werk  des  groszen  Griechen  als  Vorlage 
fur  sein  philosophisches  Gedicht  gedient,  und  er 
hat  es  in  origineller  Weise  als  Gerippe  fur  sein 
Werk  benutzt.  Es  waren  zweifellos  'Die"  drei  Bucher 
uber  die  Seele,'  die-Davies  seinem  'Nosce  Teipsum ' 
zugrunde  ge  le  gt  hat . " 


With  such  wide  divergence  of  views,  it  can  not  be  said 
that  the  derivation  of  the  philosophical  ideas  of  Davies  has  been 
established.  The  researches  of  scholars  have  been  fruitful  and 
suggestive,  but  not  definitive;  and  the  reason  for  this  failure 
is,  I think,  in  an  erroneous  conception  of  the  problem  and  the 
method  of  attacking  it.  To  say,  for  instance,  that  Davies  took 
Aristotle  as  the  basis  for  his  discussion  of  the  immortality  of 
the  soul,  merely  modifying  here  and  there  in  the  light  of  the 
Christian  philosophy  of  Aquinas,  is  to  ignore  sixteen  centuries  of 
discussion  and  development;  it  is  to  ignore  at  once  Davies'  relation 
to  tradition  and  to  his  own  time.  And  it  is  because  students  have 
neglected  the  extensive  previous  literature  on  immortality  and 
studied  Nosce  Te ipsum  abstracted  from  the  intellectual  conflict  of 
the  time,  that  they  have  failed  to  emphasize  its  partisan  and 
polemical  nature.  It  is  impossible  within  the  limits  of  a chapter 
to  make  a complete  study  of  its  sources;  but  a consideration  of  the 
poem  in  its  Renaissance  setting  will  at  least  show  in  what  way  its 


Seemann,  op.  cit.  p.  S4. 


fS-1^  V « 


.<'-  ' '''Is  4-^J-^‘''  ' ' 


Wk  ..  7‘  * ■ , '*  ■ H ■ :■■-  '/I  ..  ■''  -i}^- : 


m- 


\ ^ ...^ 


^1 


'*C"* 


....J|^?W 


158 


spiritualistic  philosophy  is  related  to  Medieval  thought  and 
consciously  opposed  to  the  rising  tide  of  scepticism  which  finally 
conquered  in  the  seventeenth  century. 


II 

Precursors  of  Davies 

In  his  introductory  poem  Davies  speaks  of  the  futility  of 
the  knowledge  of  the  material  world,  which  most  people  seek  most 
earnestly.  Preoccupied  with  our  surroundings,  we  remain  strangers 
to  ourselves.  But  in  taking  for  his  motto  the  ancient  oracle, 

"Know  thyself,"  Davies  does  not  mean  a knowledge  of  the  frailties 
and  inclinations  of  his  nature,  after  the  manner  of  Montaigne,  nor 
even  of  such  spiritual  aspirations  as  Pascal  added  to  Montaigne's 
anatomy  of  man.  Davies  speaks  as  a metaphysician.  His  whole  pur- 
pose is  to  demonstrate  the  necessity  of  a rationalistic  idealism. 

He  sought  to  know  in  himself  the  rational  powers  of  the  soul,  to 
set  them  forth  so  clearly  that  his  readers  could  see  the  inadequacy 
of  a materialistic  explanation  of  them,  and  thereby  to  prove  the 
necessity  of  assuming  the  survival  of  the  rational  soul  after  the 

death  of  the  body.  With  all  its  wealth  of  imagery  and  its  multitude  || 

! 

of  introspective  observations,  Hosce  Teiosum  is  essentially  a piece 
of  reasoning,  a demonstration  of  a metaphysical  doctrine.  In 
studying  the  relation  of  Davies  to  the  history  of  thought,  we  must 
guard  against  overemphasizing  similarities  in  details  and  even  in  I 
figures  of  speech  such  as  were  common  property  of  all  writers  on  the 
subject,  and  keep  firmly  in  mind  his  fundamental  idea  and  purpose. 


’ *'4^'^?^'’^*  fa  *' , ' * '’  ■*»  » ' ^ ’ 

•A  !^P'.'-' r . V -J- 5“'- 


■■•  t'  '1  ■*■ 

i'- 


ffl.' -'^^Jl,  ■ ' 1 

rfixr  t ■ . '.'  -.t  i .'-'i-  ■ ‘iVX*^i'fr.’ 

■'  ^‘'rVi-  ‘ •■?  -'<"V  • . ^'-  ’■  ‘ J^J'vsr  V • '*' 




4,1 


/'  '.,*<■'> „ ' -4  ' ■•'  '4^'  " ^ '’^'/^i^^''  ;J’  -’  i(|B 

fi^^ri^'  ■ , ...4^ ' ixt-^ 


■ ‘i 


Cii’  Ci 


fi\  ' f3T  ' ' ‘ '^  } •■ . • ••  A • . **'  '•  ,'^Af"A  •sv^,,jr^'C4^'vv^  *^^i! .Wj.'  '"*(i'''i) 

'i' t ,:-T.vy  4;a  / otU 

7-'?  '-  ■ ’ ,t--‘\'-,  '. ' ■.  ^ -*>'  . ■ .>' 'caicAiS: ^ - 


4 ••:.«%  . ’ ..  1.  ▼Vi 

-J  • - =>'  ■ '•  V ■<■  •*V‘'  "'  ' •'  *■''  *‘^'  ''  ' ''  '4'’*^y'ijc^^’v'i*"‘  • ^ 


1^  /V '.  • rdi'  • r 4*' ' ^'i?' ”i ■,<?  ■•  y 

'vH/if ' r-^--'4  '‘'l'Av43^ 


•*  U" 


11.  «*tq  ».xxs¥tco.«i^it'3M’r>^4*fe 


^ 


aC 


^ *»■  ■•  ' - .V  '.  •••'  \y/r  ••••,..  A.Vi.  *•■,  > ‘i^L 

T'  il/;,  .III 

. . • . ;.  ’■'• ' 4' 


i^.  ..:  ■ ..i  ■•T.vv';*  ...  ' .4..  4 ^'SESF^  '-\mbb^  'T. 


1 , :'A...  :■  .^;x.'i ^ . ■ ; 


159 


1 


I This  tradition  of  spiritual  psychology  did  not  originate 

I p 

j “with  Aristotle;  on  the  contrary,  as  we  shall  see,  his  attitude 

r- 

' towards  it  was  hesitating  and  uncertain.  Plato  was  its  first 
* ' great  champion  and  formulator  and  the  Platonic  spirit  always  con- 
^ tinned  to  permeate  it.  Asserting  that  only  the  rational  was  truly 
real,  Plato  established  a sharp  dualism  between  mind  and  matter. 

! This  dualism  appeared  in  his  theory  of  knowledge  as  a distinction 
between  those  elements  which  come  through  sensation  and  those 
•.  rational  and  self-evident  principles  which  the  soul  recognizes  at 
i first  sight,  or,  as  it  were,  remembers  from  a previous  existence. 

I.  By  means  of  the  reason,  therefore,  man  is  enabled  to  participate 
I in  the  perfect  and  eternal  world  of  Ideas,  This  supra-sensual 
nature  of  the  reason  Plato  regarded  as  a revelation  of  the  eternal 
^ life  of  the  soul;  and  he  believed  in  its  separate  existence  both 
; before  birth  and  after  death.  Plato  therefore  indicated  the  Preb- 
le lem  and  showed  the  way  for  the  later  attacks  on  materialism, 

; although  he  left  much  for  his  successors  to  do,  both  in  the  way  of 
r developing  the  implications  of  his  doctrine  and  of  enriching  it  by 
more  thorough  observation  of  the  processes  of  thought. 

An  illustration  may  be  given  of  the  persistence  of  his  I 
-influence  even  do'wn  to  Davies.  In  The  Republic.  Book  X,  Plato 
I raises  the  question  whether  the  soul,  like  all  natural  objects,  can 
be  destroyed  by  its  own  appropriate  evil.  The  evils  of  the  soul 
i are  injustice,  intemperance,  cowardice,  and  ignorance,  but  though 
they  mar  the  soul  they  can  not  destroy  it.  Since  it  persists  in 
spite  of  them,  it  must  be  indestructible  and  immortal.  Augustine 


See  especially  Plato's  Meno,  Phaedo  and  Phaedrus,  and  The  RepublicJ 
Book  X.  * 


I riif^iinrtt'l 


^ ^ -'*5 


-liWL  ij.  * 


ff,  , ,...- 

liVCw’ . •■  '-fervid' 

I*  ' - '-  ■ • »'*■  1.  , .''*.ti' 


.£ 


X^3.'-:!c' . J??  i'/c  e ■'  *.  >'1. ; 


,-f'' 


V- 


I TO  If  ' r-  'ikM. 


160 


uses  the  same  argument,  but  with  the  omission  of  the  ethical 
element.  Ferraz  thus  summarizes  his  discussion: 


"Si  la  verite'”,  dit-il,  fait  la  vie  de  l'|,rae,  de 
telle  sorte  que  le  sage  differe  de  1’ insense  en  ce 
qu'il  possede  la  vie  avec  plus  de  plenitude,  n*est-il 
pas  a craindre  que  la  vie,  qu’elle  tient  de  la 
verite,  lui  soit  otee  par  1‘erreur  qui  est  son 
contraire?  Nullement.  L'erreur  ne  peut  avoir 
sur  l‘ame  d' autre  effet  que  de  la  faire  errer; 
or  le  fait  d' errer  est  si  loin  de  de'^truire  la  vie 
de  I’ame,  qu'il  la  suppose;  car  pour  errer,  il 
faut^vivre.  Si  done  la  vie,  que  I'ame  tient  de 
la  verite,  ne  peut  lui  etre  otee  par  l'erreur 
qui  est  son  contraire,  qu'est-ce  qui  peut  la  lui 
ravir? 


And  Davies  condenses  the  argument  into  a quatrain: 

"Perhaps  some  thing  repugnant  to  her  kind, 

By  strong  antipathy,  the  Soule  may  kill; 

But  what  can  be  contrary  to  the  minde,  « 

Which  holds  all  contraries  in  concord  still?"^ 


Aristotle  made  a great  advance  on  Plato  in  that  he 
sought  by  scientific  method  and  empirical  observation  to  place 
psychology  on  a scientific  foundation.  His  discussion  of  the 
senses  and  his  description  of  the  faculties  of  the  mind  became 
models  for  later  treatises  dovm  to  the  Renaissance,  and  it  is  only 
to  be  expected  that  Davies  should  in  his  poem  make  use  of  an  analy- 


Augustine,  D^  Immortalitate  Animae . Chap. XI.  Summarized  by 
Ferraz,  M. , De  La  Psvcholosie  de  Saint  Aueuistin.  2nd  ed.  . Paris 

(J869).  p.434.  

Davies,  ed.cit.  1,97. — In  citing  parallels  in  this  section  of  my 
chapter,  I am  not  pretending  to  have  found  Davies'  direct  sources. 
Quite  the  contrary,  I am  conscious  of  the  very  great  complexity  of 
the  problem  of  finding  them,  ^ust  because  the  tradition  of  which  he | 
was  an  exponent  was  the  result  of  ages  of  growth,  by  development 
and  accretion.  My  main  object  is  to  see  what  it  meant  to  Davies, 
and  to  his  readers,  to  hold  certain  ideas  in  preference  to  others 
current  at  the  same  time;  and  since,  in  the  Renaissance,  tradition 
still  conferred  weight  and  authority,  it  is  helpful  to  know  who  ! 
were  Davies*  predecessors.  | 


61 


^ sis  which  had  remained  standard  for  so  long.  But  when  we  come  to 

i* 

the  main  problem,  and  ask  what  Aristotle  thought  about  the  nature 
: of  the  soul  and  its  immortality,  we  find  that  Davies  was  by  no 
means  Aristotelian.  For  Aristotle  seems  to  have  doubted  whether 
the  soul  survives  after  death;  at  any  rate,  his  influence,  when  not 
modified  by  the  Platonic  preconceptions  of  his  students,  was  against 
; the  belief. 

I His  conception  of  the  soul  is  an  application  of  his  gener- 

" al  metaphysics  of  form  and  matter.  The  soul,  he  said,  is  the  form. 

' or  entelechia.  of  a natural  body  furnished  with  organs.  By  virtue 
, of  this  soul,  the  organism  can  exist  as  organism,  and  function. 

Thus  axeity  would  be  the  soul  of  an  axe,  if  an  axe  were  an  organism; 

^ and  if  the  eye  were  an  animal,  eyesight  would  be  its  soul.^  This 
j metaphysical  theory  of  the  soul  was  practically  a denial  of  any 
1 individual  immortality.  And,  as  an  eminent  French  translator  of 
Aristotle  has  pointed  out,  the  tendency  among  his  most  faithful  dis- 
ciples has  been  materialistic. 

”Pour  saisir  la  vraie  pensee  d'Aristote,  il 
convient  aussi  d'interroger  ses  disciples,  ses 
successeurs,  ses  commentateurs  les  plus  autorise's: 

Aristoxene,  Dicearque,  Straton,  Alexandre  d’Aphrodise, 
auxquels  vous  pouvez  joindre  Averroes,  Pomponat  et 
leurs  partisans.  Tous  repondront  unanimement  que 
I'ame  est  mortelle,  et  ne  survit  point  au  corps, 

Aj^outez  que  o' est  la  une  consequence  evident  e et 
ne'cessaire  de  cette  theorie  qui  fait  de  I'ame  la- 
forme  du  corps. 


gPe  Anima.  II,  6-9.  Ed.  Hicks,  R.D.,  Cambridge  (1907).  p.51. 
"Earthelemy-Saint-Kilaire , Psvchologie  d'Aristote.  Paris  (1846). 
Preface . xli. — Davies  follows  the  Patristic  tradition  in  defining 
the  soul  as  an  immaterial  substance: 

"The  soule  a substance,  and  a spirit  is.... 

She  is  a substance,  and  a reall  thing. 

Which  hath  it  selfe  an  actuall  working  might." 
Davies,  ed.  cit.  I,  29. 


®-'  • ■ - ■'  ^ sa*>, a; Jff.J'^klaK'rsk^^ 


,'>;  _ _ 


'■  '■,  > • •’^ri?''Vi  ' ' <■  ? ’n  ‘ ? ' '^4  . ' '?  1' '-^  *-«p^''’'i.''S 


' ‘t'-' 

t^-.-  ...  ,. 


■."Wi: 


'J' 


tri’ 


^ fib 

V'^:>7 


?;:i 


srs-K^  iP-*“  ■ -' j 


- - V. 


W.‘"  V ■ ■ ^ ^ r 

Ari,Vtef«fc.  rifi.Ww  '-f^-  ^ 

, "Jd^'"'  . '^  ' ‘ - ■ vL'l?  ' '^•^f^s^..‘V''.'  ■ -»>^'^liii^^ 


162  I 

li' 

I But  Aristotle  also  approached  the  problem  of  the  nature 

I I of  the  soul  from  the  side  of  psychology.  In  the  first  place,  the 
1 soul  of  man  has  powers  that  distinguish  him  from  other  living 
: beings  or  organisms.  Plants  have  merely  vegetative  souls;  animals 
: have  in  addition  souls  whose  distinctive  characteristics  are  motion 

^ V 1 

^ and  sensation.  But  man  has  also  a rational  soul  which  employs 
those  pov’sers  in  the  realisation  of  the  "form”  peculiar  to  man. 

^ Aristotle  em.phasized  the  dependence  of  this  rational  soul  on  the 
senses.  It  is  true,  he  drew  a distinction  between  passive  reason. 
the  material  of  perceptions  arising  from  the  senses,  and  the  active 
’ reason,  or  pure  reason,  which  contributes  from  its  own  nature  the 
■:  supra-sensual  element  of  knowledge.  In  this  "active  reason" 


r;  Aristotle  made  a concession  to  idealism,  and  one  might  have  expected 
his  disciples  to  develop  from  it  a spiritualistic  psychology.^ 

. But  the  influence  of  Aristotle  here,  also,  was  on  the  side  of 
: ; materialism.  He  denied  the  possibility  of  the  separate  existence 
of  the  active  reason.  For,  he  says, 

"since,  apart  from  sensible  magnitudes  there  is  nothing,  | 
as  it  would  seem,  independently  existent,  it  is  in  the 
sensible  forms  that  the  intelligible  forms  exist,  both 
I the  abstractions  of  mathematics,  as  they  are  called,  I 

and  all  the  qualities  and  attributes  of  sensible  things. 

And  for  this  reason,  as  without  sensation  a man  would 
, not  learn  or  understand  anything,  so  at  the  very  time 

v7hen  he  is  actually  thinking  he  must  have  an  im.age 
before  him. 


; idealists  borrowed  this,  as  they  did  any  other  Aristotelian 

!j  dictum  they  could  harmonize  with  their  Platonism.  Of. Davies: 

! "From  thence  this  power  (understanding) the  shapes  of 

things  abstracts. 

And  them  within  her  passiue  part  receiues; 

Which  are  enlightened  by  that  part  which  acts. 

And  so  the  forms  of  single  things  perceiues." 

Davies,  op.  cit.  I,  76. 

2 * 

Aristotle,  De  Anima.  Ill,  8,  3.  Translation  by  Hicks.  Ed. cit. 
p.  145. 


V ■ V ■ - -V' 


- -’  .ii  J! 


\dit9.  • . >'  ■ f w ,#  ;*y  1 

• ;/4  ^ o '" 


- ...  'iS4i  . . .c 

&*:,•  . r-.  a'.  - ' -. 


|J|I«'>«W*I«.»  Vi 


ir> 


Aristotle's  immediate  disciples  therefore  relegated  the  theory  of 
^ the  active  reason  to  the  realm  of  speculation,  and  tended  towards 
a materialistic  explanation  of  the  rational  powers.^  And  again 
in  the  Renaissance,  Pomponatius  maintained  that  Aristotle  did  not 
teach  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  inasmuch  as  he  had  denied  the 
^possibility  of  the  separate  existence  of  the  active  reason.^ 

Therefore,  although  Aristotle  in  places  recognized  the 
I’  dualism  on  which  the  "spiritualistic"  psychology  was  based,  his 


I 


163 


empiricism  tended  to  obscure  it  or  explain  it  away.  And  it  was 
only  because  his  ideas  were  later  modified  and  interpreted  by  Neo- 
Platonism  that  they  could  be  harmonized  with  Christian  thought. 
Immortality  was,  in  fact,  historically  as  well  as  logically,  a 
Platonic  idea,  and  its  champions  before  the  Middle  Ages  were  all  men 
of  the  Platonic  tradition,  — Plotinus,  Porphyry,  Gregory  of  Nyssa, 
Nemesius  and  Augustine. 


"Every  mediaeval  and  every  later  Alexandrian 
interpretation  of  Aristotle,”  says  Douglas,  "had  been 
coloured  by  Neo-Platonism.  The  idea  of  the  individual 
soul  as  a substance,  separate  and  self -existent,  which 
prevailed  with  practical  uniformity  in  the  orthodox 


Ravaisson,  Metaphysique  ^d'Aristote,  11,50-51:  "Dans  The'ophraste 

dans  see  contemporains  Glearque,  Aristoxene,  et  Dice'arque,  dans 
btrat^on,  ^une  double  tendance  se  manifeste  de  plus  en  plus,  d'une 
part  a^delaisser  dans  sa  solitude  le  principe  hyperphysique  de  I'acte 


et  de  la  pensee  pure,  unique  objet  de  la  philosophie^premi^re ; de 

unir  intimement  la  pensee,  I'Eme,  la 


1 autre,  dans  la  physique,  a x a 

lorme  intelligible  avec  le  mouvement,  la  mati^re,  la  puissance." 
woted  by  Douglas,  A.H.,  Pietro  Pomponazzi.  Cambridge  (1910).  p.ll. 

L.,  La  Psicologia  di  Pietro  Pomponazzi.  Rome  (1876).  pp.63- 
(b.  Among  the  passages  Ferri  quotes  is  the  following  from  De 
Immortalitate  Animae : "....ad  inseparabilitatem  concludendam  sufficit 
secundum  Aristotelem  quod  sit  vel  virtus  organica,  vel  si  non 
organica,  saltern  quod  sine  objecto  corporal!  non  possit  exire  in 
opus;  dicit  enim  lex.  12  lib,  1 De  Anima,  quod  sive  intellectus  sit 
pnantasia,  sive  non  sit  sine  phantasia,  non  contingit  ipsum 
separari."  p.65,  n. 


__  .'t - I >t=i5.:.  W'5C^'< 


-‘  J'  ‘ i . V' , *008 . ■■.£'  i.-»5  ♦ ’. . "^4  ^ 


* .,  V ' * ' ^ 

a “ . .SV  ik  »(*  EiiSt^-  f*  J.  .^J.: -■_  MBukkiAi 


• .'V  ', . 


164] 

I 


schools  from  patristic  6.07m  to  modern  times,  can  be 
traced  historically  through  the  theology  of  Augustine 
back  to  the  influence  of  the  Alexandrian  thinkers  who 
first  expressed  Platonic  conceptions  in  the  forms  of 
the  Aristotelian  logic. ”1 


It  is  surprising  that  so  eminent  and  influential  a 

champion  of  spiritualistic  psychology  as  Augustine  should  never 

have  been  mentioned  by  students  of  Davies. 

! Augustine,  says  Ferraz,  "est  peut-etre  de  tous 

les  Peres  celui  qui  I'a  developpee  avec  le  plus 
I d'ampleur  et  qui  I'a  discutee  de  la  maniere  la  plus 

I forte  et  la  plus  rat ionnelle , . . II  faut  remonter 

jusqu'  \ Plotin  et  descendre^  jusqu''k  Descartes  pour 
trouver  ce  redoubtable  probleme  de  la  spiritualite 
de  I'ame  souleve  par  un  esprit  aussi  net  et  aussi 
vigoureux,  et  envisage  sous^toutes  ses  faces  avec 
une  attention  aussi  opinionatre  et  aussi  penetrante . 

I Like  Davies,  Augustine  based  his  spiritual  philosophy  on  the 
^ immediate  observation  of  his  conscious  processes.  The  author  of 
I Nosce  Teipsum,  though  too  much  a man  of  the  world  to  share  all  the 
j "spiritual  longings  of  Augustine,  did  share  his  conception  of  the 
\ method  and  problem  of  philosophy:  "Noli  foras  ire;  in  te  ipsum 

I 2 

redi:  in  interiore  homine  habitat  veritas."  With  what  dialectical 


i Douglas,  op.  cit.  pp.6-7. 

j Cf.:  "Ein  deutlicher  Ausdruck  f{Ir  die  Tendenzen  der  spatpatristi- 
« schen  Psychologic  sind  die  Lehren  Nemesius',  des  Bischofs  von  Emesa  | 
I (urn  430) . Gegen  den  Materialismus  und  gegen  die  ar istotelische  I 
j Entelechienlehre  verficht  dieser  einen  ausgesprochenen  Dualismus  vonl 
[ Leib  und  Seele,  der  sich  mit  der  Definition  der  Seele  als  einer  1 
I unkorper lichen,  fur  sich  bestehenden  Substanz  zufrieden  gibt." 

Klemm,  Otto,  Geschichte  der  Psvchologie . Leipzig  (1911) . p.  31, 

I ^Ferraz,  op.  cit.  pp.  42,  69.  [ 

j Windelband,  History  of  Philosophy,  trans.  Tufts,  N.Y.  (1893). 

p.  276.  Elsewhere  Augustine  expressed  as  the  aim  of  his  philosoohy: 
Meum  et  animam  scire  cupio."  Max  Dessoir.  Geschichte  der  Neueren 
Deutschen  Psvcholog-ie . Berlin  (1902).  I,  ll"; 


• ■ ■ I > y ^-■ 

».  V . '■'.  ^ ■ 

.»?  ^ir 


'''^^i:  \<>*VT©5ir:f  '^i  ftixd’i^^ 


165 


skill  Augustine  applied  the  introspective  method  is  apparent  from 
the  following  remarkable  passage,  which  anticipates  even  Descartes: 


"Since  we  treat  of  the  nature  of  the  mind,  let 
us  remove  from  our  consideration  all  knowledge  which 
is  received  from  without,  through  the  senses  of  the 
body;  and  attend  more  carefully' to  the  position  which 
we  have  laid  dovim,  that  all  minds  know  and  are  certain 
concerning  themselves.  For  men  certainly  have  doubted 
whether  the  power  of  living,  of  remembering,  of  under- 
standing, of  willing,  of  thinking,  of  knowing,  of 
judging,  be  of  air,  or  of  fire,  or  of  the  brain,  or 
of  the  blood,  or  of  atoms,  or  besides  the  usual  four 
elements  of  a fifth  kind  of  body,  I know  not  what; 
or  whether  the  combining  or  tempering  together  of 
this  our  flesh  itself  has  power  to  accomplish  these 
things.  And  one  has  attempted  to  establish  this, 
and  another  to  establish  that.  Yet  who  ever  doubts 
that  he  himself  lives,  and  remembers,  and  understands, 
and  wills,  and  thinks,  and  knows,  and  judges;  if  he 
doubts,  he  remembers  why  he  doubts;  if  he  doubts,  he 
understands  that  he  doubts;  if  he  doubts,  he  wishes 
to  be  certain;  if  he  doubts,  he  thinks;  if  he  doubts, 
he  knows  that  he  doss  not  know;  if  he  doubts,  he 
judges  that  he  ought  not  to  assent  rashly.  V/hoso- 
ever  therefore  doubts  about  anything  else,  ought 
not  to  doubt  of  all  these  things;  which  if  they 
were  not,  he  would  not  be  able  to  doubt  of  anything."^ 


Although  he  never  wrote  a systematic  treatise  on  the 
soul,  Augustine  discussed  in  various  places  all  phases  of  mental 
life,  and  from  his  writings  a complete  psychology  can  be  gathered. 
Naturally,  he  used  much  of  the  terminology  which  Aristotle  had  con- 

^Augustine,  On  the  Trinity.  Book  X,  Chap.  X.  Trans.  Haddan. 
Edinburgh  (1873).  p.256.  — Cf. Davies; 

"And  though  some  impious  wits  do  questions  moue. 

And  doubt  if  Soules  immortall  be,  or  no; 

That  doubt  their  immortalitie  doth  proue, 

Because  they  seeme  immortall  things  to  know.... 

So,  when  the  Soule  mounts  with  so  high  a wing, 

As  of  eternall  things  she  doubts  can  moue; 

Shee  proofes  of  her  eternitie  doth  bring, 

Euen  when  she  striues  the  contrary  to  proue." 

Davies,  op.  cit.  1,95-96. 


KV*  r.  , 


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tribute!  to  the  science.  But  he  was  no  Aristotelian.  Siebeck, 
the  most  eminent  historian  of  psychology,  calls  him,  in  contrast  to 
Aristotle,  the  "first  modern  man." 

"Unter  den  bedeutenden  Personlichkeiten  des 
Altertums,"  he  says,  "durften  kaum  zwei  so 
entgegengesetzte  Charaktere  zu  finden  sein,  wie 
Aristoteles  und  Augustin....  Fur  Aristoteles,  den 
Hellenen,  ist  das  Seelenleben  nur  soweit  interessant, 
als  es  sich  nach  auszen  kehrt,  und  dazu  dient,  die 
Welt  theoretisch  und  praktisch  zu  umspannen;  fur 
Augustin,  den  ersten  modernen  Menschen,  hat  die 
Betrachtung  desselben  nur  Wert,  sofern  aus  ihn 
sich  die  Innerlichkeit  des  pers6nlichen  Lebens 
als  etwas  von  der^^Auszenwelt  im  Grunde  Unabhangiges 
begreifen  l^szt." 

In  the  later  Middle  Ages  Augustine  was  widely  read  among 
the  Nominalists  and  the  Mystics,  who  had  in  common  an  aversion  to 
the  inte llectualism  of  Thomas  Aquinas.  He  stimulated  their  tendency 
towards  a spiritual  mode  of  thought,  based  on  a very  distinct  dual- 
ism of  mind  and  body;  he  confirmed  their  belief  that  the  moral  life 
depends  more  on  the  will  of  man  than  on  his  intellect;  and  he  taught 
them  the  art  of  observing  the  processes  of  the  inner  life,  on  which 
especially  the  mystics  concentrated  their  attention.^  With  the 
Reformation  there  was  a general  revival  of  Augustine  as  well  as 
of  other  Patristic  writers.  And  in  a little  manual  on  metaphysics, 
Richard  Crakanthorp,  who  was  an  Oxford  fellow  in  1598,  at  the  same 
time  as  Davies  was  writing  his  poem  there,  refers  to  Augustine, 
along  with  Aristotle  and  Aquinas,  as  an  authority  on  metaphysics.^ 
One  might  therefore  reasonably  have  expected  to  see  Augustine 


. Siebeck,  H.,  Die  Anf^nge  der  neueren  Psychologic  in  der  Scholastik 
in  ^itschrift  filr  Philosophic  und  phil.  Kritik.  vol . 39n"l888)  . 

Pg.  188,  191.  “ 

gSiebeck,  op.  cit. 

Crakanthorp,  R. , Introductio  in  Metaphvsicam.  Oxford  (1619) . 


, J,:  - ;((»v  '%f-' 

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MKPil^ 


167 


mentioned  among  those  whose  works  Davies  had  consulted  before 
; writing  Nosoe  Teiosum. 

:v  It  was  no  accident  that  Augustine,  who  formed  such  a 

' 1 . 

^ direct  contrast  to  Aristotle,  should  in  the  Middle  Ages  have 

5^  inspired  some  of  the  opposition  to  Aquinas,  the  "Christian 

[ Aristotle."  The  Thomistio  doctrine  of  the  soul  was  a revival  of 
r 

I Aristotle's  theory  of  Form  and  Matter,  modified  by  Neo-Platonism 
;■  and  developed  by  the  medieval  conflict  with  Arabian  philosophy. 

Thomas  defined  the  soul  as  the  Form  of  the  body,  united  with  the 
1 body  and  making  of  it  a living  organism.  But  there  are  several  kinds 

f' 

of  forms;  the  forms  of  the  lower  organisms,  plants  and  animals,  can 
■:  exist  only  with  the  bodies;  higher  forms,  the  "subsistent 
■ intelligences,"  may  exist  without  bodies;  the  subsistent  intelli- 
genes  of  man  is  united  with  the  body  in  this  life,  but  will  exist 
without  it  in  a future  life.  As  forma  separata  the  soul  is  by 
definition  immaterial,  simple,  indestructible  and  immortal.'^ 

This  doctrine  of  the  forms  appears  in  only  one  stanza  in 
Nosce  Te iosum; 

"Yet  of  the  formes,  she  holds  the  first  degree, 

That  are  to  grosse  mater iall  bodies  knit; 

Yet  shee  her  selfe  is  bodilesse  and  free; 

And  though  confin'd,  is  almost  infinite."^ 


'Even  there  it  has  no  logical  relation  to  the  context,  and  its  force 
is  more  that  of  a metaphor  than  of  a doctrine.  Davies  defined  the 
soul,  as  we  have  seen,  as  a spiritual  substance,  and  in  following 


Rickaby,  J.,  God  and  His  Creatures.  London  (1906).  pp.  109-182. 
Frohschammer , J..  Die  Philosophie  des  Thomas  von  Aquino.  Leiozie 

(1889).  pp. 349-379“  

3„ 

Davies,  op.  cit.  I,  41. 


• ■-•  .'  . '•  / "'  '■•*  '*  '/Vjv  t4’ 


, . f . 

" V 


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.'tIi 


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I ..  iwL '■?*■•  1 -■'7'’:' ' " 'V' 


168™] 

this  somewhat  crude  conception  of  the  Church  Fathers,  he  escaped 
the  equally  difficult  and  untenable  subtleties  of  Aquinas.  He  was, 
in  fact,  no  Thomist.  Though  a rationalist  rather  than  a mystic, 
he  seems  to  have  had  little  taste  for  the  Thomist ic  dialectic  from 
first  principles.^ 

The  exhaustion  of  Medieval  philosophy,  discussed  in  the 
first  chapter,  led  to  an  age  of  eclecticism  in  the  fifteenth  and 
sixteenth  centuries.  The  Aristotelian  and  Thomistic  theory  of  the 
soul  as  Form  became  the  subject  of  a fierce  controversy  in  Italy 
between  the  Averroists  and  the  Alexanlrists,  the  most  important 
result  of  which  was  the  eminence  of  the  notorious  Pomponatius,  who 
denied  the  immortality  of  the  soul  as  a philosopher,  but  as  a 
Christian  gave  it  lip-service.  But  the  psychology  of  the 
Renaissance  ignored,  on  the  whole,  this  metaphysical  theory,  and 
especially  in  Northern  Europe  preferred  the  introspective  method 
of  Augustine,  which  had  been  continued  by  the  Nominalists  and 
Mystics.  In  matters  of  detail  it  laid  all  the  past  under  contribu- 
tion, even  Aristotle  and  Aquinas;  and  out  of  manifold  sources  was 
developed  a stereotyped  treatment  of  the  problem  of  the  nature  of 
the  soul  and  its  immortality,  which  for  two  centuries  was  repeated 
with  greater  or  less  elaboration,  but  with  no  important  modification 
As  an  early  illustration  of  this  Renaissance  spiritual- 
istic psychology  we  may  quote  Nicolas  of  Cusa  (1401-1464) . Nicolas, 

^Cf.,  for  instance,  on  the  origin  of  the  soul:  Davies,  I,  47-ff. 
and  Rickaby,  pp.  166-ff.;  or  Davies'  replies  to  objections  against  1 
immortality,  with  Rickaby,  155-ff.  I 

3 S 

Douglas,  op.  cit.  Chaps.  II-IV. 

Charbonnel,  J.  R. , La  Pensee  Italienne  au  XVIe  Sieole  et  le 
Durant  Libert  in,  Paris  (1919).  Chap.  III. 


V?  ■ • ‘ V I’ 


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■•  4 


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the  author  of  Docta  Ipmorantia.  imbued  with  the  scepticism  of 
the  Nominalists,  and  in  some  ways  more  modern  than  medieval,  was 
no  disciple  of  Aquinas.  His  definition  of  the  soul,  like  that  of 
Davies,  was  Patristic. 

"Die  Seele,"  he  says,  "ist  eine  unkSrperliche 
Substanz  und  die  Kraft  zu  verschiedenen  Fahigkeiten, 

Sie  ist  die  Sinnenwahrnehmung  (sensualitas) , sie  ist 
das  Einbildungsvermogen  (ipsa  est  imaginatio) , sie 
ist  Verstand  und  Vernunft  (ratio  et  intelligentia) . 
Sinnenwahrnehm\ing  und  Einbildung  ubt  sie  im  Kdrper 
aus,  Verstand  und  Vernunft  auszerhalb  dem  Korper. 
Sinnenwahrnehmxmg,  Einbildungskraf t , Verstand  und 
Vernunft  haben  Eine  und  dieselbe  Substanz,  wiewohl 
der  Sinn  nicht  Einbildung,  Verstand  Oder  Vernuft  ist. 
Ebenso  ist  die  Einbildungskraf t nicht  Verstand  und 
Vernunft  Oder  eines  der  andern  Vermogen.  Es  sind 
verschiedene  Auf fassungsweisen  in  der  Seele,  von 
denen  die  eine  nicht  auch  die  andere  sein  kann."^ 


The  Cardinal’s  proof  of  the  immateriality  of  the  soul  recalls 
passages  in  Nosce  Teipsum; 

"Die  Fahigkeit  fiir  Weisheit  und  Unsterblichkeit 
ersehen  wir  daraus,  weil  der  Geist  sich  zu  dem 
hinneigt,  was  unzerstorlich  ist,  und  es  erfasst, 
wie  wir  es  an  den  Kiinsten  sehen;  er  fasst  die 
unsterbliche  Fahigkeit  in  sich,  zu^zahlen  und 
zu  messen.  Das  konnte  er  nicht,  hatte  er  nicht  eine 
Seele,  welche  sich  aus  dem  particularen  und  zerst&r- 
lichen  Erfahrungsmaszigen  zu  dem  universellen 
Verstandniss  desselben  erheben  und  so  sich  eine 
Kunst  erwerben  kann.  Diese  Fahigkeit  der  Seele 
aber  ist  ein  Beweis,  dass  sie  nicht  an  das  zerstorliche 
Instrument  des  Kbrpers  imd  an  die  Organs  der  Sinne 
gebunden  ist.  Sie  ist  daher  fahig  fur  Wissenschaft 
und  Kiinste  und  Weisheit,  Dinge,  die  von  allem 


Scharpff,  F.  A.,  Des  Cardinals  und  Bischofs  Nicolas  von  Cusa 
wichtigste  Schriften  in  deutschen  "Oebersetzunp;.  Freiburg  ( 1862)  . 
p.  223.  Cf.  Davies  (ed.  cit.  p.6371  " 

"So  in  our  little  World:  this  soule  of  ours, 

Being  onely  one,  and  to  one  body  tyed. 

Doth  use,  on  diuers  obiects  diuers  powers. 

And  so  are  her  effects  diuersif ied. " 


Particularen  und  Zerstorlichen  frei  sind.  Die 
Seele  zergeht  desshalb  nicht,  wenn  auch  der  Kdrper 
zergeht,  da  sie  nicht  von  ihm  abh^ngt,  wie  das  Sehen 
vom  Auge,  das  aufh'ort,  wenn  das  Auge,  an  welches  es 
gebunden  war,  zerstort  ist.  Da  die  Sehkraft  in  der 
Seele  bleibt,  so  kbnnte  sie  wie der  sehen,  sobald 
das  Auge  wieder  hergestellt  ist.  Wir  erkennen  auch 
in  der  Einbildungskraft  eine  hbhere  Art  von  Sinn, 
weil  unser  Einbilden  bei  Abwesenheit  eines  Gegenstandes 
genauer  ist,  als  die  Sinnenerkenntniss . Indessen 
irrt  die  Einbildung  oft,  hinsichtlich  der  Wahrheit, 
wie  wenn  wir  uns  einbilden,  die  Gegenfussler  fallen. 

Es  gibt  desshalb  eine  genauere  Kraft,  welche  die 
Einbildung  corrigirt  — der  Verstand,  welcher  uns 
sagt,  ;jenes  Fallen  wM,re  ein  in  die  Hbhe  Steigen  des 
Schweren,  woraus  er  Schliesst,  dass  jene  eben  so 
wenig  fallen  kbnnen,  als  wir  in  die  H6he  steigen.  . .etc. 

As  this  citation  of  parallel  passages  cannot  be  complete,  one  more, 

on  the  relation  of  the  soul  to  the  senses,  must  suffice: 


Scharpff , 
Cf.  Davies: 


op.  cit.  pp.  462-2 


I 


C 


"When  she  from  sundry  acts,  one  skill  doth  draw. 

Gathering  from  diuers  fights  one  art  of  warre. 

From  many  cases  like,  one  rule  of  Law; 

These  her  collections,  not  the  Senses  are. "(p. 30). 

"When  she  defines,  argues,  diuides,  compounds. 

Considers  vertue,  vice,  and  gsnerall  things, 

And  marrying  diuers  principles  and  grounds, 

Out  of  their  match  a true  conclusion  brings. 

These  actions  in  her  closet  all  alone, 

(Retir'd  within  her  selfe)  she  doth  fulfill; 

Use  of  her  bodie ' s organs  she  hath  none, 

When  she  doth  use  the  powers  of  Wit  and  Will. " (pp. 31-2). 

"But  when  she  sits  to  iudge  the  good  and  ill. 

And  to  discerne  betwixt  the  false  and  true; 

She  is  not  guided  by  the  Senses'  skill. 

But  doth  each  thing  in  her  own  mirrour  view. 

Then  she  the  Senses  checks,  which  oft  do  erre. 

And  euen  against  their  false  reports  decrees; 

And  oft  she  doth  condemne  what  they  preferre. 

For  with  a power  aboue  the  Sense,  she  sees. " (p. 34) . 


i.  A'  k 


-/  f5fe,>n^  ji.d^4^4--^v$Tv,  > ' •„ 

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%tj  i'^^py'utpctfii., 

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‘ ■ , '?i fv%  .: 7 ':v^  . i% 


■ •■>’■  ••-  . ■ , I..,’*  -'•'  •>. •■— : ■',.■■ ' • 


"Wenn  der  Geist  die  sinnliche  Erkenritnisskraft 
ins  Auge  fasst,  so  findet  er,  dass  dieselbe  zwar, 
s of erne  sie  von  einem  mange lhaf ten  Organe  abhangt, 
mangelhaft  ist,  nicht  aber  als  Seelenvermogen,  weil 
sie  nacii  Herstellung  des  Organs  wieder  so  gut  wie 
frdher  (ehe  dasselbe  krankhaft  geworden)  wahrnimmt, 
ohne  dass  eine  neue  F^higkeit,  ein  neues 
Wahrnehmungsvermogen  geschaffen  worden  ware.  Ebenso 
verh^lt  es  sich  rait  der  Einbildungskraft : bei  einem 
minder  guten  Organe  sind  die  Bidder  der  verniinftigen 
Seele  minder  lebendig;  auf  eine  Zeit  dang  kann  der 
Mensch,  wenn  das  Organ  gehemmt  ist,  das  Ged^chtniss 
verdieren,  und  dann  wieder  erhadten.  Es  bdeibt  adso 
in  der  Seede  die  GedRchtnisskraf t , wiewohl  ihre 
Wirksamkeit  cessirt,  die  sie  ohne  ein  gesundes  Organ 
nicht  ausuben  kann.  Wie  der  Sohreibende  ohne  Feder 
nicht  schreiben  kann,  so  ist^^auch  die  Verstandesthatig- 
keit  mange dhaft,  wenn  die  Thatigkeit  des  Organs  deidet, 
obwohd  jene  im,  Geiste  fortbesteht.  Wahrend  die 
Vernunft  bei  ihrer  Anschauung  des  vernunftig  Erkennbaren 
keines  sinndichen  Organs  bedarf,  so  ist  dagegen  der 
Geist  bei  der  Erkenntniss  der  sinndichen  Binge  an  ein 
Organ  gebunden,  dessgdeichen  bei  der  Einbiddung,  da 
diese  sinndicher  Natur  ist.  Auch  der  discursive 
Verstand  bedarf,  da  er  das  denkend  durchgeht,  was 
er  aus  der  Sinnenwedt  geschopft  hat,  der  Sinnenorgane , 
die  das  Mehr  Oder  Weniger  genau  auffassen  und  zum 
Gebrauche  geubt  sind.  Kfur  bei  der  Anschauung  des 
vernunftig  Erkennbaren,  das  durch  keinen  sinndichen 
Gegenstand  zu  fixiren  ist,  weid  seine  Einfaohheit 
und  das  Unconcrete  seiner  absoduten  Natur  iiber  das 
Gebiet  der  Sinnenwedt  hinausgeht,  bedarf  der  Geist 
kein  Sinnenorgan,  sondern  nur  seine  innere,  der 
Natur  des  zu  Erkennenden  conforme  Einfachheit.  ^ 


^Scharpff,  op.  cit.  p.464. 

Cf.  Davies: 

"These  questions  make  a subtidd  argument, 

To  such  as  thinke  both  sense  and  reason  one; 

To  whom  nor  agent,  from  the  instrument. 

Nor  power  of  working  from  the  work  is  known. . . . 

For,  if  that  region  of  the  tender  braine. 

Where  th' inward  sense  of  Fantasie  shoudd  sit. 

And  the  outward  senses  gatherings  shoudd  retain, 
By  Nature,  or  by  chance,  become  unfit; 

Either  at  first  uncapabde  it  is. 

And  so  few  things,  or  none  at  add  receiues; 

Or  mard  by  accident,  which  haps  amisse 
And  so  amisse  it  euery  thing  perceiues. . . . 

But  purge  the  humors,  and  the  rage  appease, 

Which  this  distemper  in  the  fansie  wrought; 


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^^^yyvi;r;rr.' 


172 


Nicolas  of  Cusa  7;as,  however,  quite  certainly  not  the 


[source  of  Nosce  Teipsum.  These  passages  have  been  cited  merely  to 
^ illustrate  the  tradition  to  which  Davies  was  indebted.  In  the 
.sixteenth  century  this  tradition  was  turned  to  polemical  uses 
against  the  general  sceptical  movement.  Unbelief  was  imperilling 
all  the  chief  doctrines  of  Christianity,  and  the  denial  of  any  sur- 
vival after  death  was  one  of  the  most  dangerous  tenets  of  the 
"Epicureans"  and  "Libertines."  Philosophy  was  called  from  her  aca- 
demic seclusion  to  confound  their  impieties.  A new  species  of 
popular  treatise  accordingly  began  to  come  from  the  press,  the 
nature  of  which  was  usually  indicated  in  title  or  sub-title.  Two 
such  French  treatises  had  an  especially  wide  circulation  in  England 
as  well  as  in  France.  Philippe  de  Mornay's  De_  la  ver ite  de  la 
religion  Ghrest ienne . Contre  les  Athees.  Epicuriens.  Payens , Juif s, 
Mahume dan i s t e s . et  autres  Inf i deles,  published  at  Antwerp  in  1581, 


Then  shall  the  Wit,  which  never  had  disease, 

Discourse,  and  iudge  discreetly,  as  it  ought ." (pp. 100-2) 

"Doubtlesse  the  bodie’s  death  when  once  it  dies. 

The  instruments  of  sense  and  life  doth  kill; 

So  that  she  cannot  use  those  faculties. 

Although  their  root  rest  in  her  substance  still. 

But  (as  the  body  liuing)  Wit  and  Will 

Can  iudge  and  chuse,  without  the  bodie • s ayde ; 

Though  on  such  obiects  they  are  working  still. 

As  through  the  bodie ' s organs  are  conuayde: 

So,  when  the  body  serues  her  turne  no  more. 

And  all  her  Senses  are  extinct  and  gone. 

She  can  discourse  of  what  she  learn' d before. 

In  heauenly  contemplations,  all  alone. 

So,  if  one  man  well  on  a lute  doth  play. 

And  haue  good  horsemanship,  and  Learning's  skill 
Though  both  his  lute  and  horse  we  take  away^ 

Doth  he  not  keep  his  former  learning  still?"  (p.l05) 


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173 


1 


» was  reprinted  in  1582,  1583  and  1590;  a Latin  translation  appeared 
» in  1583  and  was  frequently  reprinted;  an  English  translation  by 
\ Sir  Philip  Sidney  was  published  in  1587,  and  reprinted  in  1592  and 

I 

1604.  The  Second  Part  of  the  French  Academic . by  Peter  de  la 
Primaudaye,  dealing  particularly  with  the  nature  and  immortality  of 
^ the  soul,  was  translated  in  1594  by  '’T.B.”  Only  a few  years  after 
Davies'  poem.  Dr.  John  Dove  published  a small  volume.  Atheism 
; Defined  and  confuted  by  undeniable  arguments  (London,  1605),  in 
which  he  gave  fourteen  arguments  "alleaged  by  naturall  Philosophers 
to  prove  the  immortality  of  the  soul."^  And  at  least  twice  before 
Davies  wrote  his  poem,  immortality  had  been  made  the  argument  of 
well-kno7m  Latin  verse.  Marcellus  Palingenius,  in  Zodiacus  Vitae. 

..  published  about  1531,  devoted  one  of  the  twelve  books  to  the  nature 
of  the  soul  and  its  immortality.  It  was  the  powers  of  the  soul 
that  convinced  him  of  its  divine  nature: 


Colligitur  tamen  ex  dictis,  ao  perspicitur,  quod 
Est  anima  aethereurn  quiddam,  sine  corpore  vivens. 

Omnia  vivificans,  cognoscens  omnia 

Nam  si  anima  et  sentit,  et  cuncta  intellegit,  ergo 
Non  est  corporea,  aut  corpus:  quia  corpora  nulla 
Non  terra,  unda,  aer,  ignis,  neque  condita  ab  istis. 
Has  per  se  vires  retinent.  Non  est  dubitandum 
Esse  animam  semen  quoddam  caeleste,  lovisque 
Progenium  aeternam,  qui  tantum  cognitionis 
Cessit,  ut  immensum  valeat  comprendere  mundum.'^ 


This  whole  poem  had  a considerable  vogue  in  England;  in 


it  was  used  as  a text-book  in  English  secondary  schools 


the  original 
in  the 


i See  abstract  in  Appendix  to  chapter.  For  a list  of  other  trans- 
! lations  and  original  works  of  similar  nature  which  appeared  in 

I England  in  the  sixteenth  century,  see  Robertson.  John  M. , A Short 
I History  of  Freethought . 2nd  ed. , New  York  (19065.  II,  27. 

I ^Palingenius,  Zodiacus  Vitae , Lib.  VII,  855-868.  Ed.  Weise, 

: Leipzig  (1832).  pp. 178-9. 


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174 


I sixteenth  century,^  and  it  was  available  to  a larger  public  in  the 
translation  by  Barnabe  Googe.  The  Italian  humanist,  Aonius 
'Palearius,  published  in  1536  a Latin  poem,  Immortalitate 
1 Animarum.  which  was  often  reprinted  at  the  end  of  Lucretius,  as  an 
antidote  to  the  "atheism”  of  the  Epicurean  poet. 

The  learned  historian  of  English  philosophy,  De  Remusat, 
i once  complained  of  a difficulty,  "une  difficulte  que  nous  retrouvons 
souvent  en  ^tudiant  les  philosophes,  surtout  ceux  d'un  ordre 
secondaire.  II  faudrait  une  Erudition  et  une  memoire  incomparables 
'pour  reconnaitre  les  rares  moments  ou  ils  sont  originaux. One 

I'  must  conclude  from  this  sketch  of  the  history  of  spiritual 

psychology  from  Plato  to  Davies,  that  the  research  necessary  to 

identify  all  his  direct  or  ultimate  sources  would  be  too  great  to 

be  justifiable;  only  a Dante  or  Goethe  is  worth  so  much  learning. 

Mevertheless  our  study  has  given  us  a positive  result  in  indicating 

the  continued  vitality  as  well  as  the  antiquity  of  the  argument 

against  materialism.  Davies  could  certainly  not  have  pretended  to 

the  merit  of  novelty;  but  there  are  other  merits.  Bossuet  defined 

a heretic  as  a man  who  has  formed  an  opinion.  It  was  the 

I materialists,  the  scoffers,  the  sceptics  of  the  Renaissance  who 

had  formed  an  opinion,  who  had  departed  from  the  true  tradition. 

Davies  himself  has  described  what  he  conceived  to  be  their 

intellectual  and  moral  character: 

"How  sense lesse  then,  and  dead  a soule  hath  hee. 

Which  thinks  his  soule  doth  with  his  body  die) 

Or  thinkes  not  so,  but  so  would  haue  it  bee, 

That  he  might  sinne  with  more  securitie. 

^Watson,  Foster,  The  English  Grammar  Schools  to  1660.  Cambridge 
(1908).  pp. 378-9. 

^De  Re'musat,  Ch.,  La  Philosophie  en  Angleterre.  Paris(l875).  1,115. 


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175 


For  though  these  light  and  vicious  persons  say, 

Our  Soule  is  but  a smoake,  or  ayrie  blast; 

Which,  during  life,  doth  in  our  nostrils  play. 

And  when  we  die,  doth  turne  to  wind  at  last; 

Although  they  say,  'Come  let  us  eat  and  drinke ' ; 

Our  life  is  but  a sparke,  which  quickly  dies; 
Though  thus  they  say,  they  know  not  what  to  think. 
But  in  their  minds  ten  thousand  doubts  arise. 

Therefore  no  heretikes  desire  to  spread 
Their  light  opinions,  like  these  Epicures; 

For  so  the  staggering  thoughts  are  comforted. 

And  other  men’s  assent  their  doubt  assures.”^ 


Davies  sought  to  express  with  clearness  and  force  those  old  truths 
which  were  doubted  by  an  increasingly  large  number  of  his  con- 
temporaries. He  had  communed  with  the  saints  of  thought;  therefore 
he  championed  their  tradition  before  an  unbelieving  age. 


Ill 


Parallels  from  Primaudaye  and  others 


I If  it  is  correct  in  this  way  to  interpret  Nosoe  Teipsum 

C as  a re-statement  of  the  traditional  argument  against  materialism, 
I there  ought  to  be  marked  similarities  between  it  and  other 
j'  treatises  contemporary  with  it.  Primaudaye 's  volume  should  be 
~ especially  valuable  for  such  a comparison.  His  Second  Part  of  the 
French  Aoademie  is,  in  the  English  translation,  a rambling  ill- 
digested  discussion  in  six  hundred  pages  of  the  physiology  and 
psychology  of  man.  But  its  special  purpose  is  to  demonstrate  the 


Davies,  ed.  cit.  pp.83-3.  Elsewhere  he  calls  them  "these  light 
vaine  persons"  (p.93),  "impious  wits"  (p.95),  "these  Epicures"  (p.99] 
"this  crue"  (p.108),  "these  vaine  spirits"  (p.llO). 


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vt 


17S 


immortality  of  the  soul,  to  refute  the  atheists.  ”My  companions,” 
so  begins  the  first  page  of  the  book,” I greatly  bewayle  the  misery 
of  our  age,  wherein  so  many  Epicures  and  Atheists  liue,  as  are 
dayly  discouered  amongst  us  in  all  estates  and  callings.”  And  we 
are  apprised  very  soon  as  to  what  kind  of  knowledge  is  most  valuable 
both  to  refute  atheists  and  secure  our  ovm  salvation. 


. .that  sentence  which  saith,  Knowe  thy  selfe . 
was  not  without  good  reason  so  much  praised  and 
renowned  amongst  al  the  ancient  Greeke  and  Latin 
Philosophers,  as  that  which  is  worthy  to  be  taken 
for  a heauenly  oracle,  & a sentence  pronounced  by 
the  mouth  of  God.  For  whosoeuer  shall  know 
himselfe  well,  cannot  faile  to  know  God  his  creator, 
and  to  honour  him  as  he  ought,  if  he  follow  the 
chiefe  end  for  which  man  was  created,  as  well  as 
the  residue  of  the  creatures  . . . For  although 
the  knowledge  of  the  rest  of  the  creatures  that 
are  in  this  great  visible  worlde,  will  greatly 
helpe  to  leade  him  to  the  knowledge  of  God  the 
Creatour,  neuerthelesse  he  shall  neuer  be  able 
to  know  him  well,  if  withall  he  know  not  himselfe. 
Yea  these  two  knowledges  are  so  ioyned  togither, 
that  it  is  a very  hard  matter  to  seuer  them.  For 
as  a man  can  not  know  himselfe  if  he  know  not  God, 
so  he  cannot  know  God  wel,  if  in  like  sort  he  know 
not  himselfe.  So  that  I take  this  for  most  certain, 
that  neither  Astronomy,  Geometry,  Geography,  or 
Cosmography,  nor  any  other  Mathematical  science  is 
so  necessary  for  man,  as  that  wherby  he  may  learne 
to  know  himselfe  wel,  & to  measure  himselfe  wel  by 
the  measure  of  his  owne  nature,  that  he  may  thereby 
know  how  to  contayne  himselfe  within  the  limits 
thereof. ” ^ 


Ir.  . 

Primaudaye,  ed.  cit.  pp. 10-12.  Of. Davies: 

"All  things  without,  which  round  about  we  see. 

We  seeke  to  knowe,  and  how  therewith  to  doe; 

But  that  whereby  we  reason,  liue  and  be, 

Within  our  selues,  we  strangers  are  thereto. 

We  seeke  to  know  the  mouing  of  each  spheare, 

And  the  strange  cause  of  th'ebs  and  flouds  of  Nile; 

But  of  that  clocke  within  our  breasts  we  beare. 

The  subtill  motions  we  forget  the  while 

I know  my  life's  a paine  and  but  a span, 

I know  my  sense  is  mockt  with  euery  thing: 

And  to  conclude,  I know  my  selfe  a MAN, 

Which  is  a proud,  and  yet  a wretched  thing,  (pp.30,24). 


- A ^"*“  *’ 

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177 


I 

IKBoth  in  its  purpose  and  in  its  method  the  volume  of  Primaudaye  is 
' I therefore  a predecessor  of  Davies'  poem.  I 

In  details,  there  are  noteworthy  differences  as  well  as 
similarities.  Some  of  the  latter  will  be  presented  first,  in 
parallel  passages. 

{ Sight. 

l 

"Let  us  knowe  therefore,  that  the  eies  were 
giuen  of  God  to  men  to  cause  them  to  see,  and  to  be 
as  it  were  their  watch-towers  & sentinels,  the  guides 
& leaders  of  the  whole  body:  as  also  they  are  as  it 
were  the  chief e windows s of  the  body,  or  rather  of 
the  soule,  which  is  lodged  within  it....  Therefore 
by  good  right  they  bears  rule  among  the  senses, and 
all^the  other  members  of  the  body,  as  being  their 
guides.  For  they  are  giuen  to  man  chiefly  to  guide 
i and  leads  him  to  the  knowledge  of  God,  by  xhe  con- 

: templation  of  his  goodly  works,  which  appears 

principally  in  the  heauens  and  in  al  the  order 
thereof,  and  whereof  we  can  haue  no  true  knowledge 
I and  instruction  by  any  other  sense  but  by  the  eies. 

1 For  without  them  who  could  euer  haue  noted  the  diuers 

j course  and  motions  of  the  celestiall  bodies?  yea  wee 

see  by  experience,  that  the  Mathematical!  sciences, 
among  which  Astronomy  is  one  of  the  chisfest,  cannot 
be  well  and  rightly  shewed  and  taught,  as  many  others 
may,  without  the  helps  of  the  eies;  because  a man 
I must  make  their  demonstrations  by  figures,  which  are 

their  letters  and  images.  I passe  ouer  many  other 
Sciences,  as  that  of  the  Anatomy  of  mans  body  and 
such  like....  Wherefore  seeing  the  bodily  senses  are 
I the  chiefest  masters  of  man,  in  whose  house  the 

spirits  and  understanding  is  lodged  and  enclosed, 
the  greatest  and  first  honour  is  by  good  right  to 
be  giuen  to  the  eies  and  sight.  Likewise  it  is 
the  first  mistresse  that  prouoked  men  forward  to 
the  studie  and  searching  out  of  science  and  wisdoms 
....  His  (God's)  spirituall  light  hee  hath  infused 
into  spirituall  creatures,  and  bodily  light  into 
bodily  creatures,  to  the  ends  that  by  this  benefits 
the  spirites  might  haue  understanding,  and  the  eies 
sight.  So  that  Angelles  and  the  spirites  of  men, 
which  are  spirituall  and  inuisible  creatures,  are 
illuminated  by  the  means s of  understanding,  with 
that  spirituall  and  heauenly  light  whereof  God  hath 
made  them  partakers:  as  the  bodies  of  lining  creatures, 
and  chiefly  of  man  are  illuminated  with  the  corporall 
light  of  the  Sunne  by  meanes  of  the  eies." 

Primaudaye,  pp. 68-69. 


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178 


"First,  the  two  eyes  that  haue  the  seeing  power. 
Stand  as  one  watchman,  spy,  or  sentinell; 

Being  plac’d  aloft,  within  the  head's  high  tower; 
And  though  both  see,  yet  both  but  one  thing  tell. 

These  mirrors  take  into  their  little  space 

The  formes  of  moone  and  sun,  and  euery  starre; 

Of  euery  body  and  of  euery  place, 

Which  with  the  World's  wide  armes  embraced  are: 

Yet  their  best  obiect,  and  their  noblest  use. 
Hereafter  in  another  World  will  be; 

When  God  in  them  shall  heauenly  light  infuse. 

That  face  to  face  they  may  their  Maker  see. 

Here  are  they  guides,  which  doe  the  body  lead. 

Which  else  would  stumble  in  eternal  night; 

Here  in  this  world  they  do  much  knowledge  read, 
And  are  the  casements  which  admit  most  light.” 

Davies,  pp.65-6. 


Hearing. 

"For  this  cause  the  eares  are  not  pierced  outright, 
but  their  holes  are  made  winding  in,  like  the  shell 
of  a snayle,  whose  forme  they  represent,  so  that  one 
cannot  thrust  straight  foorth  so  much  as  a litle 
threede....  ouer  great  soundes  would  marre  the 
instrument  of  hearing,  if  they  were  not  distributed 
and  compassed  according  to  the  capacity  therof.  For 
there  must  alwaies  be  an  answerable  and  apt  proportion 
between  the  sense,  the  thing  subiect  to  sense,  and  the 
meane  by  which  the  sense  is  made.  Hereupon  it 
falleth  out  often,  that  many  become  deafe  by  hearing 
ouer  great  soundes,  whereof  wee  haue  experience  in 
Smithes,  amongest  whome  many  are  thicke  of  hearing, 
because  their  eares  are  continually  dulled  with  the 
noyse  and  sound  of  their  hammers  and  anuiles.... 
Therefore  as  the  eies  are  iudge  of  light  and  colours, 
and  by  that  meane s bring  great  pleasure  and  profite 
to  men,  so  the  eares  iudge  of  sounds  and  of  the 
voyce,  of  notes,  harmony,  and  of  melodies,  whereby 
man  receiueth  commoditie  and  delight....  how  many 
instruments  are  there  of  most  excellent  and  melodious 
musicke,  what  voices  and  pleasant  songs,  frarried  very 
cunningly,  and  with  great  grace  and  harmonie  by  the 
arte  of  musicke?.,..  But  aboue  all,  the  chiefest 
profite  that  the  eares  bring  to  men,  is  by  the  meanes 
of  speeche,  whereby  they  comm.\onicate  one  with  another 
all  their  conceipts,  imaginations,  thoughtes  and 
counsailes,  so  that  without  them  the  whole  life 
of  man  would  bee  not  onely  deafe,  but  dumbe  also 


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and  very  unperfect,  as  if  man  had  neyther  tongue, 
mouth  nor  speeche.  And  on  the  other  side,  seeing 
man  hath  alwayes  neede  of  doctrine  and  instruction, 
albeit  all  the  other  senses  helpe  him  therein, 
neuerthelesse , none  is  so  fitte  or  more  seruicable 
to  this  purpose,  next  to  the  eyes,  then  the  eares. . . . 
After  the  knowledge  of  things  is  found  out,  and  artes 
begunne  by  raeanes  of  the  sight,  ....then  the  sense  of 
hearing  teacheth  a great  deale  more,  both  greater 
matters  and  sooner...."  etc. 

Primaudaye,  pp.  81-83. 


"These  wickets  of  the  Soule  are  plac't  on  hie 
Because  all  sounds  doe  lightly  mount  aloft; 

And  that  they  may  not  pierce  too  violently, 

They  are  delaied  with  turnes,  and  windings  oft. 

For  should  the  voice  directly  strike  the  braine. 

It  would  astonish  and  confuse  it  much; 

Therfore  these  plaits  and  folds  the  sound  restrains. 
That  it  the  organ  may  more  gently  touch.... 

And  though  this  sense  first  gentle  Musicke  found. 

Her  proper  obiect  is  the  speech  of  men; 

But  that  speech  chiefely  which  God’s  heraulds  sound. 
When  their  tongs  utter  what  His  Spirit  did  pen.... 

Thus  by  the  organs  of  the  Eye  and  Eare, 

The  Soule  with  knowledge  doth  her  selfe  endue; 

Thus  she  her  prison,  may  with  pleasure  beare, 

Hauing  such  prospects,  all  the  world  to  view. 

These  conduit-pipes  of  knowledge  feed  the  mind, 

But  th’ other  three  attend  the  body  still; 

For  by  their  seruices  the  Soule  doth  find, 

What  things  are  to  the  body,  good  or  ill." 

Davies,  pp.  67-68. 


Taste . 

The  tongue  "must  first  iudge  of  tastes  & discerns 
between  good  & bad  meat,  and  between  good  and  bad 
drinkes,  to  the  end,  that  whatsoeuer  is  good  for 
the  nourishment  of  the  body,  may  be  kept  and  that 
which  is  bad,  reiected. ...  But  wee  are  to  know  this 
thing  further,  that  men  iudge  by  their  taste,  not 
onely  of  such  things  as  may  serue  to  nourish  them, 
but  also  of  medicines....  Nowe  as  hee  cannot  liue 
without  eating  and  drinking,  so  it  is  requisite 


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180 


that  he  eate  and  drinke  with  that  moderation, 
that  he  take  in  no  more  meate  and  drinke  then  he 
ought  to  doe.  For  ....  if  hee  take  too  much,  in 
stead  of  being  satisfied,  he  shal  be  burdened, 
and  in  stead  of  preseruing  his  life,  hee  will 
kill  himselfe....  But  the  danger  that  commeth 
by  not  keeping  a mediocrity,  is  a great  deale 
more  to  be  feared  on  the  one  side  then  on  the  other. 
For  there  are  but  fewe  that  breaks  not  square  oftener 
in  eating  and  drinking  too  much  then  to  little,” 

Primaudaye,  pp. 103, 109, 116. 


’’The  bodie’s  life  with  raeates  and  ayre  is  fed, 

Therefore  the  soule  doth  use  the  tasting  power, 

In  veinee,  which  through  the  tongue  and  palate  spred, 
Distinguish  euery  relish,  sweet  and  sower. 

This  is  the  bodie ' s nurse;  but  since  man's  wit 
Found  th'art  of  cookery,  to  delight  his  sense; 

More  bodies  are  consumed  and  kild  wixh  it. 

Then  with  the  sword,  famine,  or  pestilence." 

Davie  s , pp . 68-69 . 


Smell. 

"Neyther  doe  those  thinges  which  serue  for 
delectation,  alwayes  bring  profits,  but  sometimes 
the  contrarie,  principally  through  their  fault 
that  knows  not  howe  to  use  them  moderately.  For 
they  are  so  subiect  to  their  pleasures,  that  they 
can  neuer  keepe  measure  in  anything,  as  wee  see  by 
experience,  especially  in  these  two  senses  of  taste 
and  smell.  For  as  the  ordinary  meates  satisfie  not 
the  delicate  appetites  of  men,  but  they  must  haue 
new  dainties  daily  inuented  to  prouoke  their 
appetite  further,  and  to  cause  them  to  eate  and 
drinke  more  then  is  needefull,  to  their  great  hurt: 
so  men  are  not  contented  with  naturall  odours  which 
nature  bringeth  foorth  of  it  selfe,  but  nowe  they 
must  haue  muskes  and  perfumes,  with  infinite  varietie 
of  distilled  waters  and  artificial  smelles,  in 
regard  of  which,  naturall  sauors  are  nothing  set 
by.  And  yet  if  they  were  used  with  sobrietie, 
there  were  no  cause  of  reprehension. . . , Not  to 
seeke  far  offe  for  examples,  we  haue  the  testimonies 
of  the  holy  Euange lists,  as  our  Lord  lesus  Christ 
himselfe,  who  was  neither  nice  nor  voluptuous,  but 
the  perfect  paterne  of  al  sobrietie  and  temperance, 
did  not  reiect  nor  condemne  pretious  ointments  and 
sweete  odours,  but  sometime  permitted  the  use  of 


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tini  , • f :.  Sf»':/l,<i  *.?  ■ ;.'^  r-J  -i-qftiAua  oo  «1B  ijadi 
. VO  a at-  «A,  ti  ^q®a*f  i wac  aao 

ejrsAj  tn  ^a»e;tOv  Y /eohoiioqia 

*00  s3tx,i>9i  v^lrTl^c  oii  ej  ipt  /I^WBa  true 

'•o-  a©Jxr^[q;)  <tjao{r«i/  i^dff 
: *n5iurl  rll^  ftftitffiBJb  Vifta 
3p  oi  jbafc 

fisn  yfniiA 

TiQtttii  GZTSotp  X^Biiiraq  dritt  ^ aio^iijock  ffon  ma  aa/s  oa 
fodj  ri/d'  t ^0  diioot  dJaaaiicf 

srrqXdfiY  dtf  "iv  .s^nflarxiaq  haA  aaiiu/ic  ioi/a 

.XfX  , r*xrxliii45  S>rsa  bkiZtf^tb  to 

•^a»<;:wnal:rc(?,  i.’j  cioi^ao  XCa*af3‘^o  ,doXda  tc 
' y?*i  ‘ ^'^0;'^  ti  ?t-V  hnk^ 

6i  ;oi:  »,-  r»ninci»W5iqpT  to  jaifc-o  oo  ?i»w.  medt 
Tt  :c!ii(iti^sB!  :jdc  .^*^’!'9iyi«  lot  otto 

*fc>’*.’*v/  ' Lef«l  -ju^  a.  t«.:t;iX9^g£tatf3.  YXod  5d^,  to' 

■ 'Oi.3i4r‘lov’  ipo  aoiii  . •s,d?ioc  od*  ^olIsMiXd  . 

■. -'-iwM  . '>’07  ia’  Ic  uoiex-aqr  ioatiaq  sdt 

f*.,‘ fe3fr*aoy[jC|i§t  bisst^Xooo  loi:  ioatai  >oo  XjXii 

tr  r>t;j  ^ui  n^7a:c-’^q  7t^  «oick^o  eifowi 


lb 


them  upon  his  owne  person.  Moreouer,  it  is 
certaine,  that  the  animal  spirites  of  the  braine 
are  greatly  relieued  and  recreated  by  those  good 
and  naturall  smels  that  are  conueyed  unto  them  by 
means  of  the  nose,  and  of  the  sense  of  smelling 
placed  therein:  ...For  the  spirits  of  the  head 
are  subtile,  pure,  and  very  neate,  so  that  sweete 
smelles  are  good  for  them,  and  stinking  sauors 
contrary  unto  them." 

Priraaudaye,  pp. 120-121. 


"This  sense  is  also  mistresse  of  an  Art, 

Which  to  soft  people  sweete  perfumes  doth  sell; 
Though  this  deare  Art  doth  little  good  impart, 
Sith  they  smell  best,  that  doe  of  nothing  smell. 

And  yet  good  sents  doe  purifie  the  braine, 

Awake  the  fancie,  and  the  wits  refine; 

Hence  old  Deuotion, incense  did  ordaine 

To  m.ake  mens'  spirits  apt  for  thoughts  diuine . " 

Davies,  p.  69. 


The  Common  Sense. 


"The  Common  sense  is  so  called,  because  it  is 
the  first  of  all  the  internall  senses  of  which  we 
are  to  speake,  as  also  the  Price  & Lord  of  all  the 
externall  senses,  who  are  his  messengers  and 
seruants  to  minister  and  make  relation  unto  him  of 
things  in  common.  For  it  receiueth  all  the  images 
and  shapes  that  are  offered  and  brought  unto  it  by 
them,  yea  all  the  kindes  and  resemblances  of 
materiall  things,  which  they  haue  receiued  only 
from  without,  as  a glasse  doth:  and  al  this  for 
no  other  cause,  but  that  they  should  discerns  and 
seuer  euery  thing  according  to  its  o’wne  nature  & 
propertie,  and  afterward  communicate  them  to  the 
internall  senses.  For  although  all  the  knowledge 
that  is  in  the  minde  ox  man  prcceedeth  not  from 
the  outward  senses,  as  we  shewed  in  the  beginning 
of  our  speech,  neuertheles  they  are  created  of 
God,  to  the  end  they  should  send  to  the  understanding 
the  similitudes  of  things  without,  and  be  the 
messengers  of  the  minde,  and  witnesses  of  exper- 
ience: and  also  to  the  ende  they  should  awaken 
and  stirre  up  the  minde  to  behold  and  marke  the 
things  that  are  without  it,  that  by  considering 
of  them,  it  may  iudge  of,  and  correct  the  faultes. 

V/ee  must  then  obserue,  that  the  externall  senses 


, N .iioa-  eor  ^itm)  3^<t  gtciip  m^dif 

i«!i^  r^iif  \9irte^'ist< 


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- ii»"x9  tts»>  ^QhiiJ:h  bds  to  • /fi 

iifiar©  Siwodtf.  3i’xi5  p#  owIb  J&tf#*  :soa^i  ;*  »? 

op?,  &3(5B?i  i'4Qi<l8<f,oir  »Pfua  «<Sif  q«  »ixiJ»  ras4^ 
.nix5i[;iBAct3^Yp  ^.’“1  fuoj^t9  nXM  J&dt. 

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haue  no  iudgement  of  that  which  they  outwardly 
receiue  but  by  meanes  of  the  coinmon  sense,  unto 
which  they  make  relation,  and  then  that  iudgeth: 
so  that  they  ende  where  that  beginneth.” 

Primaudaye,  pp.  154-5. 


"These  are  the  outward  instruments  of  Sense, 

These  are  the  guards  which  euery  thing  must  passe 
Ere  it  approch  the  mind's  intelligence, 

Or  touch  the  Fantasie,  Wit's  look ing-glasse . 

And  yet  these  porters,  which  all  things  admit, 

Themselues  perceiue  not,  nor  discerns  the  things: 

One  common  power  doth  in  the  forehead  sit. 

Which  all  their  proper  formes  together  brings. 

For  all  those  nerues,  which  spirits  of  Sence  doe  beare 
And  to  those  outward  organs  spreading  goe; 

United  are,  as  in  a center  there. 

And  there  this  power  those  sundry  formes  doth  know. 

Those  outward  organs  present  things  receiue. 

This  inward  Sense  doth  absent  things  retains; 

Yet  straight  transmits  all  formes  shee  doth  perceiue 
Unto  a higher  region  of  the  braine . 

Davies,  pp.  70-71 


The  Fantasy. 

"This  faculty  therefore  and  vertue  of  the  soule 
is  called  Fantasie,  because  the  visions,  kindes,and 
images  of  such  things  as  it  receiue th,  are  diuersly 
fr.amed  therein,  according  to  the  formes  and  shapes 
that  are  brought  to  the  Common  Sense....  Moreouer 
this  facultie  of  the  fantasie  is  sudden  & so  farre 
from  stayednes,  that  euen  in  the  time  of  sleep  it 
hardly  taketh  any  rest,  but  is  alwaies  occupied  in 
dreaming  & doting,  yea  euen  about  those  things 
which  neuer  haue  bin,  shalbe,  or  can  be.  For  it 
staieth  not  in  that  which  is  shewed  unto  it  by  the 
senses  that  serue  it,  but  taketh  what  pleaseth  it, 
and  addeth  thereunto  or  diminisheth,  changeth  and 
re  change th,  mingle th  and  unmingleth,  so  that  it 
cutteth  asunder  and  seweth  up  againe  as  it  listeth. 
So  that  there  is  nothing  but  the  fantasie  will 
imagine  and  counterfaite , if  it  haue  any  matter 
and  foundation  to  worke  upon. ..." 

Primaudaye,  p.l55. 


-•riar  — j v v.rS^j^jediiCyqty  ar?:  ■;»  •**  r<ai?«g^3MHih: 


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wi  v\’f'  ?A  ofr:^/  itf  rpit  dtoi^Xa 

ifxrfT;  0f»5ia'.i  iJ7Cf  amtaa  Bdaitas 

isf\«  rftx<*^/it  .dtiiiJjB  1©  d.1®JbL#fi)^ 

?4  rjsidX  4‘3  dcHsi^r;iib  \dtf9^ftj4do©i  . ^ 

^tjj  US t^»9f  tiUi  %9ktwe&'(iSpSfud]  ^ 
tXf»  ^x^i^Sne'S  f^ds  in6  }fxiitisttt  qI  mtilS  ti»dX  0$;,.  ^ 
iaff^«r»  v;fta  &tMs4,  Yi  , t-tt^yei^zroo  l>cr3  ani^Jfflr^ 

*.  . . .fio<^  ©afioy  0^  iibt^xitoa^^  i>«^Vr 
.55X.1  , ayrfi^iyaR^ tiH  . ..  *.  . ^*r|  y 


liv. 


,i':'.7^ 


>^3 


v'A 


" , . . .Fantasie,  neere  hand-maid  to  the  mind, 

Sits  and  beholds,  and  doth  discerne  them  all; 
Compounds  in  one,  things  diuers  in  their  kind; 
Compares  the  black  and  white,  the  great  and  small. 

This  busie  power  is  working  day  and  night; 

For  when  the  outward  senses  rest  doe  take, 

A thousand  dreames,  fantasticall  and  light, 

With  fluttring  wings  doe  keepe  her  still  awake.” 

Davies,  pp.71-2. 


The  Sensitive  Memory. 

"Forasmuch  as  the  memory  is  as  it  were  the 
Register  and  Chancery  Court  of  all  the  other  senses, 
the  images  of  all  things  brought  and  committed  unto 
it  by  them,  are  to  be  imprinted  therein....  There- 
fore it  is  not  without  the  great  wisdome  & 
prouidence  of  God,  that  the  seate  & shop  thereof 
is  in  the  hindermost  part  of  the  head,  because  it 
must  looke  to  the  things  that  are  past.  So  that 
we  haue  in  that  part  as  it  were  a spirituall  eye, 
which  is  much  more  excellent  and  profitable,  then 
if  wee  had  bodily  eyes  there,  as  we  haue  before, 
or  else  a face  before  and  an  other  behinde,  as 
the  Poets  fained  that  lanus  had. 

Primaudaye,  pp.  161-2. 


"Yet  alwayes  all  may  not  afore  her  bee; 

Successiuely,  she  this  and  that  intends; 
Therefore  such  formes  as  she  doth  cease  to  see. 
To  Memorie's  large  volume  shee  commends. 

The  lidger-booke  lies  in  the  braine  behinde. 

Like  lanus'  eye,  which  in  his  poll  was  set; 

The  lay-man's  tables,  store-house  of  the  mind. 
Which  doth  remember  much,  and  much  forget.” 

Davies,  p.  72. 


reason  and  Understanding. 

"In  the  rninde  of  man  there  shineth  alwaies  this 
naturall  light  that  is  giuen  unto  him  aboue  that 
which  beasts  haue,  I mean  Reason,  which  serueth  to 
guide  the  soule  and  spirits  amidst  the  darknesse 
of  errour  and  ignorance,  to  the  ende  they  may  be 


^ ^ k .t  m.  i k A.-V*  W A ^.n.*' A f-  A K M- .A  A A^'V  - .*'' 


.^d^lX  ta^  rifof ? »^.rrJ8.^  »nu*»'^tLjijWBoo4^  A ^ /<. 

I;  ^^a  Sdit  !|i?:>Jb  _ '"'s3  * i 

» ^ - -»  - _ . . -^  . - ! . • jT  , i. 


, o -> BO *?a ^sr ' .1  >0  -ja .N‘  JM*  ii^'  9 xv*;^  »t> ajwIO  tiw  a Ijj ’H 

trfjjjofO'id  XX«  Bogjwil  Brf^. 

-eiarfT  , , : ItTCl  iha« I oi  3 til 

avda  * ^">^9*!  srt*  \C^0  ^o  9da9bidoiq  .« 

.ti  W ^(?.  cf's^'^fJbRirf  n^  •! 

35d?  98^  ' : .B  y/v4^  ,^i  o^  sioop  a'atfttr 

,9\9  Il^u>  k'Ti*:]^^  .’.  *'?i^  " 4 oji  ^T$<f  flf  axwid  s>w 

49dt  ,eXd4^i:’iio*r)Cj  .fi.  >r£t'r'x^  et:oiT  dfai/ffl  ai  rfoidw 
t9Xol<£>4  s tifs  X^iljdd  ^5#i’l'  ©ew  li 

^ ai>  , . v.l^o  tm.  tfhis  bt^\  b oaXw  16 

^^.  5u  .bxiit  Ql/il3l  b&il^j.  «i90^  9di  U’ 

^ f'A  r is.lfitit  Aik«  f ’ 1^'  ' n ' 


9dS  bT9m  Cl  %‘'iS  d.‘  X**  = 


able  to  discerns  trueth  from  falsehood,  and  the 
true  Good  from  the  false,  as  wee  see  the  light 
serueth  the  eyes  to  keeps  us,  and  to  cause  us  to 
see  in  darkenesse.  Therefore  we  sayde  before, 
that  there  was  a double  discourse  of  reason  in  man; 
whereof  the  one  is  Theoricall  and  Speculatiue, which 
hath  Trueth  for  his  ends,  and  hauing  found  it  goeth 
no  farther.  The  other  is  Practical,  hauing  Good 
for  his  end,  which  being  found  it  stayeth  not  there, 
but  passeth  forward  to  the  Will,  which  God  hath 
ioyned  unto  it,  to  the  end  it  should  loue,  desire 
and  follow  after  the  Good,  and  contrariwise  hate, 
eschew  and  turns  away  from  euill.  Therefore  when 
the  question  ariseth  of  contemplation,  reason  hath 
Trueth  for  her  utmost  bounds,  and  when  she  is  to 
come  into  action, she  draweth  towardes  Good,  and 
hauing  conferred  together  that  which  is  true  and 
good,  she  pronounceth  iudgement.  So  that  reason 
considereth  of  thinges  with  great  deliberation, 
and  beeing  sometimes  in  doubt  which  way  to  take, 
shee  stayeth  and  returneth  as  it  were  to  her  selfe, 
and  maketh  many  discourses  before  shee  iudge  and 
conclude....  Imagination  and  fantasie,  being  neerer 
to  the  corporall  senses,  draw  the  soule  to  those 
thinges  that  are  bodily:  but  the  reason  and  the 
spirits  pricke  it  forwards,  and  cause  it  to  lift 
up  it  selfe  to  more  excellent  things.  For  the 
spirits  (which  the  Philosophers  expresse  by 
Understanding)  mounteth  up  unto  those  things  that 
cannot  be  knowen  nor  comprehended  of  imagination 
and  fantasie,  nor  of  any  other  sense.” 

Primaudaye,  pp.  171-3. 


"The  Wit,  the  pupill  of  the  Soule’s  clears  eye. 

And  in  man's  world,  the  onely  shining  starre; 

Looks s in  the  mirror  of  the  Fantasie, 

Where  all  the  gatherings  of  the  Senses  are.... 

But  after,  by  discoursing  to  and  fro, 

Anticipating,  and  comparing  things; 

She  doth  all  universall  natures  know, 

And  all  effects  into  their  causes  brings. 

When  she  rates  things  and  moues  from  ground  to  ground, 
The  name  of  Reason  she  obtains s by  this; 

But  when  by  Reason  she  the  truth  hath  found. 

And  standeth  fixt,  she  IWDERSTANDING  is. 

Davies,  pp.  75-6. 


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V- 


Wit  and  Will. 


"Nowe  although  we  saide  before,  that  reason  helde 
the  soueraignty  amongst  the  powers,  vertues  and  office 
of  the  soule,  yet  wee  must  know,  that  reason  raigneth 
not  ouer  Vifill  as  Lady  and  Prince sse,  but  onely  as 
Mistresse  to  teach  and  shew  it,  what  it  ought  to 
followe,  and  what  to  flie  from.  For  the  will  hath 
no  light  of  it  selfe,  but  is  lightened  by  the  minde, 
that  is  to  say,  by  reason  and  iudgement,  which  are 
ioyned  with  it,  not  to  gouerne  and  turne  it  from 
one  side  to  another  by  commandement  and  author i tie, 
either  by  force  or  violence,  as  a Prince  or  Magistrate 
but  as  a couneailer  or  director,  to  admonish  and  to 
conduct  it.  And  so  the  will  desireth  or  refuse th 
nothing,  which  reason  hath  not  first  shewed  that 
it  is  to  be  desired  or  disdayned.  Therefore  the 
act  of  Will  proceedeth  indeede  from  Will,  but  it 
is  iudged  of  and  counselled  by  reason:  ...And  as 
concerning  the  naturall  disposition  of  the  Will, 
it  is  to  will  that  good  which  is  truely  good,  or 
that  which  seemeth  to  bee  so:  and  to  shunne  euill, 
eyther  that  which  is  euill  in  deede,  or  that  which 
it  thinketh  to  bee  so.  Nowe  if  shee  choose  and 
followe  euill  for  good,  it  followeth  not  therefore, 
but  that  shee  would  alwayes  followe  the  good,  as 
that  which  properly  appertayneth  unto  her,  and 
reiect  euill  as  her  enemie.  But  the  reason  why 
shee  maketh  choyce  of  euill  for  good,  is  because 
shee  is  deceiued,  taking  one  for  another,  which 
commeth  to  passe  through  the  ignorance  and  corrup- 
tion that  is  in  the  nature  of  man....  Whereupon  it 
followeth,  that  our  Will  is  at  libertie  and  free, 
and  cannot  bee  constrayned:  yea  God  the  Creatour 
and  Lorde  thereof  woulde  haue  it  so,  otherwise  it 
shoulde  not  bee  a Will.  It  is  verie  true,  that  it 
followeth  reason  alwayes,  because  the  Will  hath  no 
light  of  it  selfe,  but  onely  so  farre  forth  as  it 
receiueth  the  same  from,  reason,  which  guideth  and 
directeth  it.  And  therefore  it  neuer  applieth  it 
selfe  to  any  thing  whatsoeuer,  but  hath  reason 
alwayes  for  a guide,  whome  it  followeth.  Neuerthe- 
lesse  it  is  not  so  subiect  thereunto  as  that  it  may 
compell  it  to  followe  all  the  reasons  that  are 
propounded  unto  it  by  reason,  or  tye  it  to  any 
of  them,  but  that  alwayes  shee  hath  her  libertie 
to  make  choyse  of  which  reason  shee  please,  out 
of  all  those  that  are  set  before  her." 

Primaudaye,  pp.  204-6. 


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e^fg 


186 


"And  as  this  wit  should  goodnesse  truely  know, 

We  haue  a Will,  which  that  true  good  should  chuse; 
Though  V/il  do  oft  (’when  wit  false  formes  doth  show) 
Take  ill  for  good,  and  good  for  ill  refuse. 

Will  puts  in  practice  what  the  Wit  deuiseth: 

Will  euer  acts,  and  Wit  contemplates  still; 

And  as  from  Wit,  the  power  of  wisedome  riseth, 

All  other  vertues  daughters  are  of  Will. 

Will  is  the  prince,  and  Wit  the  counseller. 

Which  doth  for  common  good  in  Counsell  sit; 

And  when  lit  is  resolu'd.  Will  lends  her  power 
To  execute  what  is  aduis'd  by  Wit. 

Wit  is  the  mind's  chief  iudge,  which  doth  controule 
Of  Fancie's  Court  the  iudgements,  false  and  vaine; 
Will  holds  the  royall  septer  in  the  soule 
And  on  the  passions  of  the  heart  doth  raigne. 

Will  is  as  free  as  any  emperour. 

Naught  can  restrains  her  gentle  libertie; 

No  tyrant,  nor  no  torment,  hath  the  power. 

To  make  us  will, when  we  unwilling  bee." 

Davies,  pp.  78-9. 


These  passages  have  been  quoted  to  this  tedious  length 
because  they  show  conclusively  that  Primaudaye  and  Davies  had  a 
common  purpose  of  popularizing  and  Christianizing  psychology, 
and  used  for  the  purpose  identical  figures  of  speech,  illustrations, 
and  moral  turns.  It  would  be  unprofitable  to  cite  further,  from 
their  restatement  of  the  time-worn  arguments  for  immortality.  Only 
very  great  minds  can  be  original  on  that  theme,  and  similarities 
in  thought  are  only  to  be  expected.  But  it  is  worthy  of  notice 
when  some  of  Davies'  more  striking  and  elaborate  similes  are  found, 
not  only  in  Primaudaye  but,  before  him,  in  De  Mornay.  The  three 
following  parallels  were  not  coincidences. 


f 09^  whoo^  tit ‘ LH  ^^*.  .hixA} 

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*11  lol  Jcagi  trui  tbl  ICl  " 


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■m  ■> 

ijctii^lcr.ico  yoff  «T«w  aieXlA-^-iSffiwoXXo 


187 


I. 

"Water  in  conduit  pipes,  can  rise  no  higher 

Then  the  wel-head,  from  whence  it  first  doth  spring: 
Thensith  to  eternall  God  shee  (the  soul)  doth  aspire, 
Shee  cannot  be  but  an  eternall  thing. 

Davies,  p.  85. 


"And  so  that  may  bee  saide  of  our  soule,  which 
is  spoken  of  a spring  of  water,  namely,  that  it 
ascendeth  as  much  upwards  as  it  descendeth  downeward, 
but  can  goe  no  higher.  For  when  a man  woulde  oarie 
the  water  of  a spring  any  whither,  and  would  haue 
it  mount  upwards,  it  will  be  an  easie  matter  to 
bring  it  as  high  as  the  spring-head  from  whence  it 
floweth:  but  no  higher,  except  it  bee  forced  by_some 
other  means  then  by  its  o'wne  course  and  natural! 
vertue.  Notwithstanding  it  will  easily  descend 
lower.  And  so  it  fareth  with  our  spirits.  For 
as  it  came  from  God,  so  it  is  able  to  mount  againe 
to  the  knowledge  of  him,  and  no  higher:  but  it 
descendeth  a great  deale  lower." 

Primaudaye,  p.538. 


II. 

An  answer  to  the  objection  that  no  witness  has  returned 
from  beyond  the  grave; 

"Fond  men  I If  we  beleeue  that  men  doe  liue 
Under  the  Zenith  of  both  frozen  Poles, 

Though  none  come  thence  aduertisement  to  giue; 

Why  bears  we  not  the  like  faith  of  our  soules?" 

Davies,  p.l09. 


"Nowe  before  wee  make  answers  to  so  friuolous  and 
false  an  argument,  I would  gladly  demaund  of  them, 
whether  there  were  nothing  at  all  of  those  new-found 
Hands,  (which  were  lately  found  in  our  time)  before 
they  were  discouered  by  them  who  not  only  were  neuer 
there,  but  did  not  so  much  as  once  hears  of  them  before. 
For  no  body  went  thither  from  hence,  neither  did  any 
come  hither  from  thence:  so  that  there  was  no  more 
intelligence  betweene  them  and  us,  then  betweene  the 
lining  and  the  dead,  or  betweene  them  that  are 
altogether  of  another  world:  therefore  also  their 
countrey  is  called  the  New  world.  Nowe  then  shall 
it  be  thought,  that  this  people  were  not  at  all, 
because  they  were  not  knowne  of  us,  nor  their  manners 
and 'kinds  of  life? 

Primaudaye,  p.  533. 


sjMP  ■ .w  liiini'T 


wfH--  Is  S3P’  -:-.lpi 


”Un  autre  dit.  Si  les  ames  viuent,  que  ne  le 
nous  viennent  elles  dire?  & pense  bien  auoir 
rencontre'',  ie  ne  sgay  quoy  de  bien  subtil.  Mais 
quelle  consequence,  Nul  n’est  venu  depuis  tant 
d’ann/es  des  Indes  \ nous,  il  n‘y  a donq  point 
d’Indes?  Ains  par  mesme  argument  ne  serions  nous 
point,  nous  qui  n*y  alii ons point . " 

De  Mornay,  ^ 1^  Ver ite  de  la  Religion 
Chrestienne . Leyden  (165IT.  p.  316. 


III. 


"See  how  man’s  Soule  against  it  selfe  doth  striue: 

Why  should  we  not  haue  other  meanes  to  know? 

As  children  while  within  the  wombe  they  liue. 

Feed  by  the  nauill:  here  they  feed  not  so. 

These  children,  if  they  had  some  use  of  sense. 

And  should  by  chance  their  mothers'  talking  heare; 
That  in  short  time  they  shall  come  forth  from  thence 
Would  feare  their  birth  more  then  our  death  we  feare 

They  would  cry  out,  'If  we  this  place  shall  leaue. 

Then  shall  we  breaks  our  tender  nauill  strings; 

How  shall  we  then  our  nourishment  receiue, 

Sith  our  sweet  food  no  other  conduit  brings? 

Davies,  pp.  107-8. 


"Moreouer,  as  a childe  commeth  out  when  hee  is 
borne,  so  doth  a man  when  he  dieth.  And  in  comming 
forth  both  of  them  enter  into  a new  and  unacquainted 
light,  & into  a place  where  they  finds  all  things 
much  altered  and  farre  differing  from  those  which 
they  used  to  haue  in  their  other  kind  of  liuing. 

For  which  cause  both  the  one  & the  other  being 
troubled  and  scared  with  this  nouelty,  are  unwilling 
to  come  forth  of  their  clapper  & to  forsake  their 
closet,  were  it  not  that  they  are  urged  and  constrained 
thereunto  by  the  arte,  lawes,  & rights  of  nature, 
whereby  God  hath  better  prouided  for  our  affaires 
then  wee  ourselues  could  conceiue  or  comprehend, 
both  in  our  natiuity  & life,  & also  in  our  death. 

The  ignorance  whereof  oauseth  our  spirit  to  abhor re 
the  departure  out  of  this  life,  in  regard  of  this 
great  change  that  is  therein,  because  it  knoweth 
not  what  good  is  brought  to  it  thereby,  no  more  then 
the  little  child  knoweth  wherefore  he  is  borne  into 
the  world,  or  what  he  shall  finds  there.  And  there- 
fore albeit  nature  presseth  to  come  foorth  neuerthe- 


Si: 


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(tlT^f^jt'  oJ  -Vri^k  'ipc  dv  68i.iia  loftxodw  eociaxdcs^  iix*  . 
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189 


lesse  according  to  that  sense  which  it  can  haue, 
it  weepeth  by  and  by  after  it  is  borne,  as  if  it 
were  fallen  into  some  great  inoonuenience , and 
that  some  great  euil  were  fallen  unto  it;  as  we 
doe  also  at  our  death,  for  the  cause  before  alleged, 
not  considering  that  it  is  our  second  and  better  birth.” 

Primaudaye,  pp. 403-4. 

"Comrae  I'homme  a este'’  prepare'^  en  la  matrice  pour 
estre  mis  en  ce  Monde,  qu'aussi  est  il  comme  prepare' 
en  ce  corps  & en  oe  Monde  pour  viure  en  I’autre. 

Nous  apprehendonsquand  nature Heme nt  il  faut  sortir 
de  ce  Monde.  Et  qui  est  1' enfant,  si  nature  par 
son  artifice  ne  I'en  chassoit,  qui  voulust  sortir 
de  son  cachot,  qui  n'en  sorte  comme  pasrne  & perdu; 
qui,  s’il  auoit  la  cognoissance  lore  & la  parolle, 
n'appellast  mort  ce  que  nous  appellons  naissance; 
sortir  de  sa  vie,  ce  que  nous  disons  y entrer?” 

De  Mornay,  p.309. 


In  the  interpretation  of  such  parallels,  which  could  be 
extended  to  cover  more  than  half  of  Davies’  poem,  we  must  proceed 
warily.  Even  such  a large  number  of  similarities  do  not  prove 
conclusively  that  Davies  had  used  Primaudaye  and  De  Mornay  in  the 
composition  of  his  own  work.  The  discussion  of  the  subject  was  so 
general  in  the  Renaissance,  and  followed  so  faithfully  the  ancient 
arguments  of  an  old  tradition,  that  only  the  most  minute  study  could 
ever  determine  the  indebtedness  of  one  writer  to  another.  Moreover, 
there  are  important  differences  between  The  French  Academje  and 
Hosce  Teiosum.  Whereas  Primaudaye,  for  instance,  discusses  both 
sides  of  the  controversy  about  the  origin  of  the  soul,  without  him- 
self deciding  for  either,  Davies  proves  by  "clear  demonstrations” 
that  souls  are  successively  created  by  God.  Davies’  distinction 
between  the  sensitive  and  the  intellectual  memory  is  not  in 
Primaudaye.  Such  differences  are  numerous  enough  to  show  that  Davies 
if  he  ever  read  The  French  Academic  at  all,  had  studied  it  critically 

, ■ 


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t.  . • • j .sXB  <- 


M«lfc 


190 


and  in  the  light  of  other  works  on  the  siahject.  And  they  strengthen 
the  suspicion  that  the  parallels  cited  may  have  their  explanation 
in  some  common  source.  Nevertheless  these  parallels  leave  no  doubt 
as  to  the  relation  of  Nosoe  Teipsum  to  the  general  idealistic 
tradition  of  his  own  time,  and  effectively  dispose  of  the  theory 
that  it  was  an  isolated  re-working  of  the  ideas  of  Aristotle, 

Nemesius  or  Thomas  Aquinas. 

Since  the  poem  was  so  thoroughly  derivative,  on  what 
grounds  was  its  contemporary  reputation  based?  Certainly  not  on 
any  originality  in  thought.  On  such  a subject  James  I,  at  least, 
preferred  orthodoxy.  But  Nosce  Teinsum  is  distinguished  above  the 
forgotten  treatise  of  Primaudaye,  because  of  its  vigor  and  con- 
sistency of  thought,  its  thorough  rationalism,  and  its  remarkable 
combination  of  clearness  and  condensation.  Only  a keen  intellect 
could  at  that  time  have  sifted  these  kernels  from  the  chaff  of 
Primaudaye.  The  originality  of  Nosce  Teipsum  lay  in  its  strength 
of  conception,  in  the  steady  march  of  its  argument,  in  its  direct 
and  triumphant  manner  of  meeting  the  enemies  of  idealism,  without 
asking  any  concessions,  on  their  own  ground  of  experience  and  reason. 

IV 

The  Obsolete  Rationalism  of  Davies 

Davies,  therefore,  belonged  to  the  school  of  rational 
Idealism;  he  affirmed  the  spiritual  nature  of  man.  But  within  this 
school  there  had  been  two  methods  of  procedure,  the  empirical  and 
the  dialectical.  The  latter,  of  which  Aquinas  may  be  regarded  as 


vexf;  ^oA  SitfJr  tso  35cffo  ?:6  ^d^lt  cd^  at  tee 

•'.'sAieP’o  '(ZSi  teiio 

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^‘*  i>ls  i»/jM  ■ /?l  'ifi 


191 


representative,  began  with  metaphysical  principles  and  tried  to 
deduce  from  them  a necessary  and  consistent  theory  of  the  soul.  The 
empiricists,  represented  by  Augustine,  began  with  direct  observation 
of  their  oito  inner  life,  and  assumed  a spiritualistic  explanation  of 
those  phenomena  which  could  not  be  accounted  for  by  the  materialistic 
hypothesis.  Davies  was  an  empiricist,  partly  no  doubt  because  he 
was  an  Englishman;  but  also,  and  chiefly,  because,  in  the 
Renaissance,  the  Thomistic  philosophy,  though  studied  everywhere 
and  in  some  schools  partly  accepted,  had  long  ceased  to  dominate 
intellectual  Europe. 

For  in  the  Renaissance  the  spirit  of  scepticism  had  under- 
mined all  the  preconceptions  of  Medievalism  as  it  was  formulated  by 
Aquinas.  Scepticism  had  made  necessary  a rational,  non-Biblical 
defense  of  the  Christian  religion,  and  thus  stimulated  the  formula- 
tion of  rational  theology,  of  which  Aquinas  himself  was  one  of  the 
founders,  and  which  developed  into  Deism.  But  scepticism  had  gone 
even  deeper,  and  denied  the  possibility  of  any  rational  knowledge; 
Nominalism,  in  its  opposition  to  the  theory  of  Universals,  had,  as 
we  have  seen,^  anticipated  even  the  sensationalism  of  Hobbes;  early 
in  the  sixteenth  century  Agrippa  of  Netesheim  had  popularized  a 
superficial  scepticism;  and  the  revival  of  Sextus  Empiricus  provided 
unbelief  with  a more  systematic  and  thorough  method  of  criticism. 
Scholastic  method  had  by  the  time  of  Davies  completely  lost  its  hold 
on  the  Renaissance,  and  pious  Christian  Humanists  were  among  the 
first  in  their  scorn  of  it.  Therefore,  as  the  Bible  had  lost  its 
authority  in  the  sphere  of  rational  theology,  so  in  philosophy  the 

^Chapter  I.  p.  36,  n.l. 


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192 

champions  of  idealism  could  no  longer  rest  their  argument  on  the 
metaphysics  of  Aquinas. 

In  beginning  with  an  assumed  doubt  and  in  examining  his 
ovm  nature,  Davies  was  therefore  in  the  spirit  of  his  age.  His 
method,  as  old  as  Augustine  and  Plato,  was  also  as  modern  as 
Descartes.  For  Descartes  owed  much  to  the  same  tradition  as  Davies. 
Eossuet,  who  himself  wrote  for  his  pupil  the  Dauphin  a Traite  de  la 
Connaissanoe  de  Dieu  et  de  soi-meme.  had  said  as  much.  "Descartes," 
he  wrote  in  a letter  to  Bishop  Huet, 

"a  dit  d'autres  choses,  que  je  crois  utiles  centre 
les  athd'es  et  les  libertins,  et,  pour  celles-1^, 
comme  je  les  ai  trouv^es  dans  Platon,  et,  ce  que 
3 'estime  beaucoup  plus,  dans  saint  Augustin,  dans 
saint  Anselme,  que 1 que s -une s meme  dans  saint  Thomas 
et  dans  les  autres  auteurs  orthodoxes,  aussi  bien 
ou  mieux  expliqu^s  que  dans  Descartes,  je  ne  crois 
pas  qu’elles  soient  de venues  mauvaises  depuis  que 
ce  philosophe  s'en  est  servi:  au  contraire,  je  les 

soutiens  de  tout  mon  coeur,  et  je  ne  crois  pas  qu'on 
les  puisse  combattre  sans  quelque  peril. 

But  as  a defender  of  the  faith  of  idealism,  Davies  looked 
too  much  towards  the  past,  the  Middle  Ages.  He  was  too  completely 
rational.  He  wrote  passages  of  deep  feeling,  of  humility  and 
reverence,  but  in  his  study  of  himself  he  never  found  his  soul.  He 
made  the  error  of  seeking  it  only  in  his  reason,  and  he  wrote  an 
anatomy  of  the  mind.  The  immortality  he  wrote  about,  the  highest 
bliss,  is  the  repose  of  the  understanding  in  perfect  truth,  in  a 
knowledge  of  God.  But  such  a conception  is  either  profoundly  mysti- 
cal, as  in  Dante  and  Aquinas,  or  it  is  a mere  abstraction.  With 
Davies  it  remained  an  abstraction.  He  never  discovered  those  springs 

^Quoted  by  Brunet ie re.  La  Philosonhie  de  Bos suet,  in  Etudes 
^itiQues.  vol.  5,  ParisTieGS)  . pp.48-9. 


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193 


in  the  hman  heart  which  are  the  true  source  of  philosophical  as 
well  as  of  religious  idealism.  In  his  poem  the  modern  reader  finds 
no  comfort  or  solace. 

An  illuminating  contrast  to  Davies  is  afforded  by  his 
contemporary  John  Donne,  who  was  so  deeply  affected  by  the 
Pyrrhonism  of  his  time,  and  learned  in  his  sceptical  youth  that  all 
Divinity  is  Love  and  Wonder.^  Both  wrote  of  the  assurance  of  the 
soul  at  the  approach  of  death.  Davies  is  contemplative: 


”0  ignorant  poor  man!  what  dost  thou  be are 
Lockt  up  within  the  casket  of  thy  brest? 

What  iewels,  and  what  riches  hast  thou  there! 

What  heauenly  treasure  in  so  weake  a chest!  . . . 

And  when  thou  think 'st  of  her  eternitie, 

Thinke  not  that  Death  against  her  nature  is, 

Thinke  it  a birth;  and  when  thou  goest  to  die. 

Sing  like  a swan,  as  if  thou  went'st  to  blisse. 

And  if  thou,  like  a child,  didst  feare  before. 

Being  in  the  darke,  where  thou  didst  nothing  see; 

Now  I haue  broght  thee  torch-light,  feare  no  more; 

Now  when  thou  diest,  thou  canst'^not  hud-winkt  be.  . . 

Cast  downe  thy  selfe,  and  onely  striue  to  raise 
The  glory  of  thy  Maker's  sacred  Name; 

Use  all  they  powers,  that  Blessed  Power  to  praise. 
Which  giues  thee  power  to  bee,  and  use  the  same."  ^ 


There  is  an  almost  complete  obliteration  of  the  self  as  a personal- 
ity in  these  lines,  whereas  Donne's  poem,  Hymne  to  God  mv  God  in  mv 
sicknesse . satisfies  deep  longings  and  releases  hidden  spiritual 
energies  such  as  are  necessary  to  any  real  and  living  conviction  of 
immortality: 

"Since  I am  comming  to  that  Holy  roome. 

Where,  with  thy  Quire  of  Saints  for  evermore, 

I shall  be  made  thy  Musique;  As  I come 
I tune  the  Instriiment  here  at  the  dore. 

And  what  I must  doe  then,  thinke  here  before.  . . . 


gDonne,  Poetical  Works,  ed.  cit.  I,  30.  Cf.pp.81  and  246. 
Davies,  ed.  cit.  I,  114-116.  


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194 


So,  in  his  purple  wrapp'd  receive  mee  Lord, 

By  these  his  thornes  give  me  his  other  Growne; 

And  as  to  others  soules  I preach'd  thy  word, 

Be  this  my  Text,  my  Sermon  to  mine  owne, 

Therfore  that  he  may  raise  the  Lord  throws  do’wn."^ 


Davies'  conception  of  the  world  and  of  man  lacks  poetry.  He  could 
not  express,  because  he  could  not  see  or  appreciate,  all  the 
passions,  intuitions,  paradoxes,  mysteries  of  human  nature.  The 
author  of  Nosce  Teinsum  never  read  the  secrets  of  the  heart  of  man. 

The  style  is  the  man.  Clarity,  the  chief  merit  of  Davies* 
poem,  may  almost  be  said  to  be  its  chief  defect.  The  most  difficult 
and  abstract  concepts  are  illustrated  and,  as  it  were,  made  concrete 
by  a series  of  parallel  physical  images.  The  soul 

" . . . is  a vine,  which  doth  no  propping  need, 

To  make  her  spread  her  selfe  or  spring  upright; 

She  is  a starre,  whose  beames  doe  not  proceed 
From  any  sunne,  but  from  a natiue  light. 


Such  images  are  delightful  in  a metaphysical  treatise,  perhaps,  but 
they  are  feeble  in  poetry;  they  are  vague  in  outline  and  colorless. 
Under  the  influence  of  the  abstract  thought  which  the  poem  is 
primarily  intended  to  express,  they  become  half  generalized,  lest 
the  interest  of  the  reader  should  be  diverted  from  the  idea  to  the 
image.  To  use  psychological  terms,  they  are  concepts  rather  than 
images.  We  do  not  see  either  the  stream  or  the  branch  in  this 
stanza: 

"When  in  th' effects  she  doth  the  causes  know. 

And  seeing  the  stream,  thinks  wher  the  spring  doth  rise; 
And  seeing  the  branch,  conceiues  the  root  below; 

These  things  she  views  without  the  bodie's  eyes."^ 


jDonne,  ed.  cit.  I,  368-9. 
gDavies,  ed.  cit.  I,  30. 
Davies,  ed.cit.  I.  ^1. 


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195 


The  style  of  Davies  is  perfectly  adapted  to  express  his  thought,  but 
neither  is  imaginative  or  poetical. 

On  the  whole,  Davies*  defense  of  idealism  was  too  facile. 
He  evaded  the  problems  raised  by  the  deeper  scepticism  of  his  own 
day,  and  he  paid  the  penalty  of  growing  obsolete  in  the  next  age. 

He  and  his  school  had  made  too  many  assimptions  to  escape  a search- 
ing and  destructive  criticism.  Against  their  doctrine  of  the 
spirituality  of  the  rational  processes,  the  seventeenth  century 
boldly  revived  the  peripatetic  axiom:  Nihil  est  in  intellectu  quod 

non  prius  fuerit  in  sensu.  The  soul,  which  Davies  "distinguished 
plainly"  as  a "substance  and  a spirit,"  was  discarded  as  both 
unknowable  and  a contradiction  in  terms.  Thus  the  realities  of 
which  Davies  and  his  contemporaries  were  so  certain,  melted  away 
under  critical  examination.  Not  only  psychology  and  philosophy, 
but  science,  as  we  shall  see  in  the  next  chapter,  was  modified  in  a 
similar  manner  and  under  the  same  influence.  Medieval  notions  and 
preconceptions  were  examined  and  either  re-defined  or  discarded. 
European  thought  was  transformed  by  the  critical  effort  of  the  six- 
teenth and  seventeenth  centuries.  It  was  the  triumph  of  scepticism. 


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Appendix  to  Chapter  IV. 


196”"  I 


John  Dove's  fourteen  arguments^  for  the  immortality  of  the 
soul  were  published  in  1605,  six  years  after  Nosce  Teinsum.  but 
their  resemblance  to  the  poem  makes  them  worth  quoting,  especially 
as  the  volume  is  scarce.  My  abstract  is  made  from  the  London 
edition  of  1656,  pages  167  to  176. 


"I  will  produce  these  arguments  which  are  alleaged  by 
naturall  Philosophers  to  prove  the  immortality  of  the  soule.  . 

I.  "The  First  is  drawne  from  the  understanding  of  man,  for 
man's  soule  is  of  infinite  capacity,  the  more  it  understandeth 
the  more  it  is  able  to  understand.  . . But,  for  as  much  as  it 
is  infinitly  capable  in  this  life,  and  cannot  be  satisfied  in 
this  life,  therefore  it  must  be  satisfied  in  the  life  to  come." 

2.  "The  object  of  mans  understanding  is  truth.  . . And 
for  as  much  as  this  cannot  be  attained  unto  in  this  life,  there- 
fore it  is  reserved  unto  a better  life." 

2.  "The  object  of  mans  understanding  is  ENS,  everything 
that  is,  but  because  there  are  some  things  mater iall,  & some 
spirituall,  it  must  conceive  them  both,  and  as  for  the  things 
which  be  immaterial!  and  without  bodies,  it  cannot  distinctly 
conceive  them  in  this  fraile  body,  therefore  the  conceiving  of 
them  belongeth  to  the  soule  when  it  is  separated  from  the  body." 

4.  "All  men  by  nature  desire  Knowledge  as  the  Philosopher 
speaketh,  but  scire  est  rem  per  causas  cognoscere . to  know  a thing 
is  to  judge  and  discerns  of  the  causes  of  it.  . . And  that  cannot"^ 
be  in  this  life,  because  the  essence  of  God  is  not  conceived  by 
discoursing  of  him,  but  by  perfectly  seeing  of  him,  & beholding 
of  him  face  to  face,  even  as  he  is." 

II.  "My  second  reason  is  drawne  from  the  will  of  man.  That 
also  is  infinite  . . . Man  may  desire  that  which  is  infinitely 
good.  . . 

2,  The  liberty  also  and  freedoms  of  mans  will  ...  is 
of  an  inf ini t power.  . . 

3.  The  object  of  the  will  is  that  whatsoever  is  good.  . . 
and  therefore  never  resteth.  . . untill  it  come  to  perfect  fruition 
of  God  . . . 


^See  page  175. 


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4.  The  will  of  man  moveth  it  selfe  to  one  thing  and  an 
other,  and  is  not  moved  by  any  naturall  agent,  and  as  the  will  is, 
so  is  the  essence  it  selfe,  and  therefore  not  subject  to  corruption.” 

III.  ”A  third  reason,  the  very  appetite  of  man  is  also  infin- 
ite, it  findeth  no  contentment  among  all  the  things  which  are  under 
the  Sunne ...” 

IV.  ”A  fourth,  the  very  operation  of  the  soule  it  selfe 
without  any  reference  unto  the  body.” 

V.  ”A  fifth,  nothing  can  be  destroyed  by  that  wherin  the 
perfection  of  it  doth  consist,  but  the  very  perfection  of  the  soule 
doth  consist  in  the  abstraction  and  separation  of  it  from  the 
body.  , .” 

VI.  ”The  sixt,  There  is  a kind  of  reflection  of  the  minde 
and  all  the  faculties  thereof,  above  it  selfe,  the  understanding 
understandeth  that  it  doth  understand,  the  will  willeth  that  it 
shall  be  willing,  the  memory  remembreth  that  it  doth  remember,  so 
it  understandeth  that  it  doth  remember,  so  it  understandeth  that 
it  willeth  and  doth  remember,  which  no  bodily  nor  mortall  thing 
can  performe,  it  is  therefore  spirituall  and  immortall.” 

VII.  ”The  soul  can  attain  unto  a more  divine  knowledge  by 
revelations,  but  only  when  it  is  abstracted  from  the  body. 

VIII.  "The  soul,  as  it  is  not  produced  by  any  natural  cause, 
so  it  cannot  be  destroyed  by  any  natural  cause. 

IX.  "The  soul  subsisteth  by  it  selfe,  and  therefore  it 

cannot  dye  by  any  accident:  The  antecedent  I prove,  because 

it  hath  operations  proper  to  it  selfe,  as  I have  shewed." 

X.  Everything  destroyed  is  destroyed  by  its  contra.ry; 
the  soul  has  no  contrary. 

XI.  Understanding  increases  with  the  aging  of  the  body. 

XII.  The  soul  is  like  God  and  the  Angels,  spiritual, 
immaterial  and  simple. 

XIII.  Proper  distribution  of  justice  requires  an  after  life. 

XIV.  "There  cannot  be  conscience  without  immortality  of  soul." 


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CHAPTER  FIVE 


THE  NEW  PHILOSOPHY  OF  SCIENCE 

I.  The  Medieval  Cosmology.-  II.  The  Development  of  the 
Mechanistic  Theory.-  III.  The  Position  of  Bacon.-  IV.  The 
Materialism  of  Hobbes.-  V.  The  Opposition  to  Hobbes: 

Carte siani era  and  Scepticism. 

The  idealism  and  the  spiritualistic  psychology  of  the 
Middle  Ages  and  the  Renaissance  were  intimately  bound  up  with  a 
scientific  conception  of  the  world  and  the  relation  of  man  to  it. 
Such  a close  connection  between  philosophy,  psychology,  physiology, 
and  even  physics  and  astronomy  is  of  course  sought  in  every  age, 
inasmuch  as  men  always  generalize,  legitimately  or  not,  from  what- 
ever data  they  have.  But  in  the  Middle  Ages  this  union  was  pre- 
scribed; none  of  the  sciences  had  as  yet  attained  their  autonomy, 
and  their  ends  and  methods  were  both  determined  by  the  dominant  ' 
theological  interest.  To  organize  all  knowledge  into  a harmonious 
and  complete  system,  was  the  Medieval  ideal;  and  assuming  this 
interrelationship  and  union  of  all  branches  of  kno?/ledge,  men 
imbued  with  the  Medieval  spirit  reasoned  in  science  from  the  same 
assumptions  and  by  the  same  methods  as  in  philosophy.  They  regarded 
apriori  principles  as  valid  in  astronomy  as  in  theology.  In  fact, 
what  they  desired  was  not  science  at  all,  but  theosophy. 

This  closed  completeness  of  the  universe  as  it  appeared  in 
the  Middle  Ages  is  extremely  difficult  for  us  to  comprehend, 
especially  when  it  led  to  modes  of  reasoning  which  we,  with  the 
advantage  of  centuries  of  remarkable  progress,  regard  as  ridicu- 


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lously  erratic  and  fantastic.  For  instance,  reasoning  by  analogy 
was  a frequent  and  favorite  method  of  clinching  a scientific 
argument.  A typical  instance  is  recorded  from  the  advanced  and 
liberal  university  of  Padua  in  the  seventeenth  century.  The 
principal  professor  of  philosophy,  refusing  to  look  through 
Galileo's  telescope  at  the  Satellites  of  Jupiter,  argued  that  they 
could  not  possibly  exist.  For 

"there  are  seven  windows,"  he  said  to  the  Grand 
Duke,  "given  to  animals  in  the  domicile  of  the  head, 
through  which  the  air  is  admitted  to  the  tabernacle 
of  the  body,  to  enlighten,  to  warm,  and  to  nourish 
it.  What  are  these  parts  of  the  microcosmos?  Two 
nostrils,  two  eyes,  two  ears,  and  a mouth.  So  in 
the  heavens,  as  in  a macrocosmos,  there  are  two 
favorable  stars,  two  unpropitious,  two  luminaries, 
and  Mercury  undecided  and  indifferent.  From  this 
and  many  other  similarities  in  nature,  such  as  the 
seven  metals,  etc.,  which  it  were  tedious  to 
enumerate,  we  gather  that  the  number  of  planets 
is  necessarily  seven.  Moreover,  these  satellites 
of  Jupiter  are  invisible  to  the  naked  eye,  and 
therefore  can  exercise  no  influence  on  the  earth, 
and  therefore  would  be  useless,  and  therefore  do 
not  exist.  Besides,  the  Jews  and  other  ancient 
nations,  as  well  as  modern  Europeans,  have  adopted 
the  division  of  the  week  into  seven  days,  and  have 
named  them  after  the  seven  planets.  Now,  if  we 
increase  the  number  of  the  planets,  this  whole 
and  beautiful  system  falls  to  the  ground."^ 


But  in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries  the  natural 
sciences  developed  a new  method,  which  had  phenomenal  success;  and 
this  new  method  involved  a new  philosophy  of  science  which  at 
almost  every  point  contradicted  Medievalism.  Science  declared  it- 
self independent,  and  became  a law  unto  itself.  It  proceeded  on 
assumptions  that  traditional  philosophy  and  theology  had  to  regard 


^Quoted  by  Sedgwick  and  Tyler,  Short  History  of  Science . N.Y.  (1917), 
pp.  233-3.  Of. another  example  on  pp.  233-4. 


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as  absolute  heresy.  Thus  science  destroyed  the  Medieval  unity  and 
order  of  knowledge;  it  subjected  to  a re-examination,  from  a new 
point  of  view,  the  whole  idealistic  and  constructive  effort  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  The  world  which  had  been  thought  of  as  a rational 
unity,  was  resolved  into  atoms;  man,  who  had  regarded  himself  as 
created  a little  lower  than  the  angels,  was  now  explained  as  a 
machine,  a part  of  a mechanistic  nature.  John  Donne,  in  The  First 
Anniversary  (1611),  expressed  the  dejection  produced  by  this  new 
science.  Describing  the  melancholy  state  of  the  world,  he  says 
that  the 

"new  Philosophy  calls  all  in  doubt. 

The  Element  of  fire  is  quite  put  out; 

The  Sun  is  lost,  and  th‘ Earth,  and  no  mans  wit 
Can  well  direct  him  where  to  looks  for  it. 

And  freely  men  confesse  that  this  world's  spent. 

When  in  the  Planets,  and  the  Firmament 
They  seeks  so  many  new;  they  see  that  this 
Is  crumbled  out  againe  to  his  Atomies. 

'Tis  all  in  pieces,  all  cohaerence  ^one; 

All  just  supply,  and  all  Relation."^ 

In  the  scientific  effort  of  the  Renaissance,  therefore, 
we  have  one  of  the  most  important  conflicts  between  the  old  thought 
and  the  new.  Although  the  full  implications  of  it  were  not  at  once 
understood,  the  new  philosophy  was  a denial  of  all  the  idealism  the 
Middle  Ages  had  comprehended;  it  appeared  to  the  older  school  as  a 
restoration  of  the  atheistic  materialism  of  Democritus,  Epicurus 
and  Lucretius.  This  new  philosophy  of  science,  as  it  profoundly 
challenged  the  old  conception  of  man  as  well  as  of  the  world,  merits 
a chapter  in  a study  of  the  disintegration  of  Medievalism.^ 

gDonne,  ed.  cit.  I,  237.  11.  205-214. 

I am  deeply  indebted  in  this  chapter  to  T.  C.  Allbutt,  Science  and 
Medieval  Thought , London(l90l)  and  to  Hoffding,  History  of  Modern 


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I 


The  Medieval  Cosmology 

As  the  scientific  theory  of  the  Middle  Ages  was  a branch 
of  its  philosophy,  it  was,  like  philosophy,  dominated  by  Neo- 
Platonic  idealism  and  Aristotelian  logic.  From  Neo-Platonism  came 
the  deeply-rooted  belief  that  the  supra-sensual  world  of  Ideas  is 
the  real  world.  True  knowledge  is  abstract  knowledge,  and  the 
highest  felicity  of  man  is  to  know  the  most  universal  of  all  imi- 
versals,  that  is  God,  or  Ens.  No  scientific  method  is  useful  which 
does  not  lead  the  mind  upward  on  a gradual  scale  of  generalizations, 
from  individual  to  species,  from  species  to  genus.  The  scientific 
effort  of  the  Middle  Ages  was  therefore  primarily  one  of  classifi- 
cation, systematization,  and  abstraction  of  concepts.  The  highest 
aim  of  knowledge  was  to  understand  Jehovah's  reply  to  Moses:  "I  am 

that  I am." 

This  idealistic  impulse  found  its  method  and  materials  in 
Aristotle.  From  him  was  derived  the  maxim:  "Vere  scire  est  per 

causas  scire."  But  the  word  cause  has  suffered  a change  in  meaning 
in  modern  times,  so  profound  that  most  of  its  Aristotelian  signifi- 

Philosophy , London (1900) . The  Short  History  by  Sedgwick  and  Tyler 
is  not  philosophical,  but  is  full  of  useful  illustrative  material. 
Whewell’s  books  referred  to  below  axe  a mine  of  information.  The 
influence  of  the  new  science  on  English  thought  in  the  seventeenth 
century  still  awaits  thorough  treatment;  C.  S.  Duncan,  The  New 
Science  and  English  Literature  in  the  Classical  Period  (Chicago 
Diss.  19137,  practically  ignores  the  serious  aspect  of  the  new 
science,  concerning  himself  rather  with  those  comic  excesses  and 
peculiarities  of  the  gentlemen  virtuosi  which  made  them  material 
for  comedy  and  satire.  My  own  discussion  is,  I am  aware,  sketchy; 
the  subject  merits  a volume. 


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203 


cance  has  disappeared.  Aristotle  distinguished  four  kinds  of 
causes.  The  first  two,  "formal"  cause  and  "material"  cause,  were 
part  of  his  metaphysics,  which  explained  every  entity  in  the  world 
as  a union  of  passive  matter  with  an  active  form.  Form  and  matter, 
Aristotle  held,  must  always  exist  together  in  every  individual 
object.  In  the  Middle  Ages  Thomas  Aquinas  regarded  both  form  and 
matter  as  universals,  and  found  himself  confronted  with  the  insol- 
uble problem  of  individuation;  that  is,  given  two  universals,  ho?/ 
can  they  be  combined  into  an  individual?  We  have  also  seen  how 
this  greatest  Doctor  of  the  Middle  Ages  identified  "forms"  with  the 
spiritual  element  of  man,  and  maintained  that  the  "forms"  of  men 
and  angels  are  capable  of  a separate  existence,  free  from  any  matter 
whatsoever.^  No  clearer  example  could  be  adduced  of  the  Neo- 
Platonic  transformation  of  Aristotle  in  Medieval  thought.  The 
Aristotelian  "form"  persists  as  a pure  Neo-Platonic  Idea  even  with 
the  somewhat  sceptical  Nicolas  of  Cusa,  who  says  in  his  work  On 
Conjectures: 

"Conjectures  must  proceed  from  our  mind,  as  the 
real  world  proceeds  from  the  infinite  Divine  Reason. 

For  since  the  human  mind,  the  lofty  likeness  of  God, 
participates,  as  it  may,  in  the  fruitfulness  of  the 
creative  nature,  it  doth  from  itself,  as  the  im.age 
of  the  Omnipotent  Form,  bring  forth  reasonable 
thoughts  which  have  a similitude  to  real  existences. 

Thus  the  Human  Mind  exists  as  a conjectural  formpof 
the  world,  as  the  Divine  Mind  is  its  real  form.""^ 

Knowledge  of  the  formal  and  material  causes  of  anything  was,  there- 
fore, a knowledge  of  the  universals  under  which  it  might  be  sub- 


^See  above.  Chap.  IV,  p.  167. 

Quoted  by  Whewell,  William,  The  Philosophy  of  the  Inductive 
Sciences.  London  (1847).  II,  181. 


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203 


Burned  — in  other  words,  a knowledge  of  its  classification. 

Aristotle's  third,  the  efficient  or  producing  cause, 
corresponds  somewhat  to  the  modern  conception,  but  without  the 
modern  mechanical  and  mathematical  implications.  The  efficient 
and  the  formal  causes  of  an  object  might  even  be  the  same;  as, when 
a sculptor  designs  a statue,  he  is  the  efficient  cause  of  the 
statue,  but  only  because  in  his  mind  he  has  an  idea  of  the  statue. 
And  both  the  formal  and  efficient  causes  might  be  identical  with 
the  fourth,  or  final  cause,  the  aim  of  the  sculptor,  or  the  pur- 
posiveness in  the  statue.^ 

It  is  not  difficult  to  understand  that  this  kind  of  know- 
ledge of  causes  W3.s  combined  with  Neo-Platonic  idealism.  The 
result  of  the  union  was  an  attempt  to  know  things  by  getting  at 
their  inwardness,  or  essence,  or  whatever  element  in  them  would 
submit  to  the  highest  degree  of  generalization.  It  is  because  our 
whole  method  of  understanding  the  world  is  different  from  that  of 
the  Medieval  thinkers,  that  we  regard  their  efforts  as  merely  arid 
classification . 

When  this  method  was  applied  to  the  materials  of  science, 

one  could  not  expect  science  in  the  modern  sense.  In  the  study  and 

classification  of  forms  in  order  to  get  at  the  essence  of  things, 

the  mystical  and  spiritual  purpose  triumphed  over  exact  observation; 

and  therefore,  says  Whewell, 

"instead  of  referring  the  events  of  the  external 
world  to  space  and  time,  to  sensible  connection  and 
causation,  men  attempted  to  reduce  such  occurrences 
under  spiritual  and  supersensual  relations  and 
dependencies;  they  referred  them  to  superior  intelli- 

^Erdmann,  Hist,  of  Phil. , ed.  cit.  I,  146-ff. 


204 


gencies,  to  theological  conditions,  to  past  and 
future  events  in  the  moral  world,  to  states  of 
mind  and  feelings,  to  the  creatures  of  an 
imaginary  mythology  or  demonology.  And  thus 
their  physical  Science  became  Magic,  their 
Astronomy  became  Astrology,  the  study  of  the 
Composition  of  bodies  became  Alchemy,  Mathematics 
became  the  contemplation  of  the  Spiritual  Rela- 
tions of  number  and  figure,  and  Philosophy  became 
Theosophy. " ^ 

In  many  respects  the  Medieval  cosmology  was  indebted  to 

Aristotle.  In  his  Metaphysics  (Book  XII,  Chap,  viii)  he  had  said 

that  the  stars  and  planets  must  be  eternal  essences,  for  they  move 

in  perfect  circles,  and  a body  which  moves  in  a perfect  circle  must 

be  eternal  and  unresting.  From  the  planetary  spheres  he  derived 

the  animal  heat  and  motion  in  the  living  beings  found  on  earth.  He 

saves  himself  from  hylozoism  by  assuming  prior  to  these  spheres  a 

mover  which  is  itself  unmoveable  and  eternal.  Apart  from  the  fact 

that  Aristotle  in  this  way  made  himself  one  of  the  authorities  of 

the  Medieval  superstitious  astrology,  his  theory  is  illuminating  to 

us  by  showing  the  futility  of  the  science  of  "forms"  as  applied  to 

motion.  To  take  another  example,  Aristotle  explained  the  phenomena 

of  gravitation  by  saying  that  the  various  substances  or  elements 

have  their  allotted  places,  to  which  it  is  their  nature  to  return 

when  removed.  Such  explanations  are  difficult  to  distinguish  from 

animism,  and  in  the  Middle  Ages  the  parallel  of  the  macrocosm  and 

the  microcosm  often  suggested  an  animated  universe.  Pomponatius 

called  the  world  an  animal.  Aristotle’s  fifth  element,  the  quintes- 

2 

sence,  became  in  the  early  Renaissance  a spiritus  mundi . 


1 211. 
Whewell,  History  of  the  Inductive  Sciences , 3rd  ed. , N.Y. (1884) . I,^ 
^Lasswitz,  Kurd,  Geschichte  ler  Atomistik.Hatnburg(l890)  . 1,293. 


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205 


The  insoluble  problems  of  the  soul  and  motion  were  there- 
fore closely  related  throughout  Medieval  thought,  and  uniformly 
given  spiritualistic  or  animistic  solutions.  In  the  general  indis- 
tinctness of  thought,  and  the  aspiration  after  universals  and 
essences  and  forms,  the  difference  between  mind  and  matter  was 
seriously  obscured.  The  pitfall  was  unavoidable  in  the  state  of 
thought  at  that  time;  even  the  scientists  who  contributed  most  to 
the  new  philosophy  of  science,  frequently  used  the  language  of  the 
old.  Gilbert  described  the  magnetic  force  he  had  discovered  as  ”of 
the  nature  of  soul,  surpassing  the  soul  of  man.”  Harvey  refused  to 
accept  the  theory  of  the  "natural,  vital  and  animal  spirits";  but 
he  believed  that  the  motion  of  the  heart  and  blood  is  due  to  "innate 
heat,"  which  is  not  fire  nor  derived  from  fire;  and  the  blood,  he 
said,  is  not  occupied  by  a spirit,  but  is  a spirit,  "celestial  in 
nature,  the  soul,  that  which  answers  to  the  essence  of  the  stars.... 
is  something  analogous  to  heaven,  the  instrument  of  heaven."^  Even 
Kepler  retained  for  a long  time  such  animistic  conceptions  of  force 
and  motion.  In  his  Epitome  of  the  Cope rnican  Astronomy  (1618-21) 
he  expresses  himself  thus: 

"There  is  therefore  a conflict  between  the  carry- 
ing power  of  the  sun  and  the  impotence  or  material 
sluggishness  (inertia)  of  the  planet;  each  enjoys 
some  measure  of  victory,  for  the  former  moves  the 
planet  from  its  position  and  the  latter  frees  the 
planet's  body  to  some  extent  from  the  bonds  in  which 
it  is  held.  . . but  only  to  be  captured  again  by 
another  portion  of  this  rotary  virtue."  Elsewhere 
he  sa3'‘s:  "We  must  suppose  one  of  two  things:  either 
that  the  moving  spirits,  in  proportion  as  they  are 
removed  from  the  sun,  are  more  feeble;  or  that  there 
is  one  moving  spirit  in  the  centre  of  all  the  orbits, 
namely,  in  the  sun,  which  urges  each  body  the  more 
vehemently  in  proportion  as  it  is  nearer;  but  in 


^Albutt.  op.  cit.  pp.  41-ff. 


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206 


more  distant  spaces  languishes  in  consequence  of 
the  remoteness  and  attenuation  of  its  virtue.”^ 

This  vitalistic  and  animistic  conception  of  force  and 
motion  was  one  of  the  most  important  of  Medieval  ideas,  and  one  of 
the  most  fertile  sources  of  Medieval  superstition.  But  to  ridicule 
it  would  be  unintelligent;  we  have  not  yet  found  out  the  secret  of 
what  force  and  motion  are : we  have  only  learned  a ne-w  method  of 
describing  their  effects.  In  the  Middle  Ages,  men  sought  for  the 
essence  of  motion,  and  conceived  of  it  in  terms  of  the  analogous 
will  and  effort  of  their  own  experience;  this  will  and  effort  we 
have  rejected,  not  because  we  know  better  the  ’’essence"  of  force  and 
motion,  but  because  we  have  found  it  possible  to  hypothesize  an 
unanimated  physical  world.  This  transformation  of  the  philosophy 
of  motion  is  due  to  the  application  of  mathematics  to  science. 

II 

The  Development  of  the  Mechanistic  Theory 

The  new  philosophy  of  science  was  gradually  developed  in 
connection  with  the  discoveries  of  the  remarkable  group  of  astrono- 
mers from  Copernicus  to  Newton.  But  in  its  essential  principles  it 
was  already  understood  by  that  universal  genius,  Leonardo  da  Vinci, 
half  a century  before  the  theory  of  Copernicus  was  first  given  to 
the  world.  Although  his  work  remained  in  manuscript  until  the  nine- 
teenth century  and  was  therefore  without  influence  in  the  Renaissance 

^Quoted  by  Brewster  and  Tyler,  op.  cit.  p.  214. 


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207 

yet  his  ideas  were  so  clear  and  definite  and  anticipated  so 

strikingly  two  hundred  years  of  scientific  progress,  that  a brief 

account  of  them  will  clarify  our  sketch  of  the  later  discoveries. 

Leonardo  frequently  declares  himself  in  opposition  to  the 

scholastic  methods,  which  employed  authority  and  a priori  reasoning; 

science,  he  said,  can  only  be  derived  from  experience.^  He  does  not 

disdain  reasoning:  "Non  e da  biasimare  lo  mostrare,  in  fra  I'ordine 

del  processo  della  scienza,  alcuna  regola  generale,  nata  dell' 

antidetta  conclusione . " But  he  understood  the  futility  of  seeking 

to  know  the  essences  of  things:  "Che  cosa  sia  elemento.  la 

diffi^izione  di  nessuna  quiddita  delli  element!  non  'fe  in  podest'h, 

2 

dell’  omo,  ma  gran  parte  de ' loro  effetti  son  noti."  Final  causes, 
also,  are  unknowable:  "0  speculatore  delle  cose,  non  ti  laudare  di 

conoscere  le  cose,  che  ordinariamente,  per  s'e  medesima  la  natura, 
per  sua  ordini,  naturalmente  conduce;  ma  rallegrati  di  conoscere  il 
fine  di  quelle  cose,  che  son  disegnate  dalla  mente  tua!"®  Science 
meant  to  him  primarily  the  application  of  mathematics:  "Nessuna 

certezza  e dove  non  si  pub  applicare  una  delle  scienze  matematiche, 

4 

over  che  non  sono  unite  con  esse  matematiche."  Mechanics  he  there- 
fore called  the  paradise  of  the  sciences:  "La  Meccanlca  ^e  il 

paradise  delle  scienze  matematiche,  perche  con  quella  si  viene  al 
frutto  raatematico."  The  object  of  such  a science  must  be  a uni- 
verse of  law,  and  Leonardo  struggled  to  express  this  conception: 

^Leonardo  da  Vinci,  Frammenti . ed.  Solmi,  Florence (ISIS) . 
pp.  81,  83,  87,  etc. 

^Ibid.  p.97 
^Ibid.  p.99 
^Ibid.  p.86 
Ibid,  p.86 


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308 


”La  necessity  e maestra  e tutrice  della  natura.  . . La  natura  'e 
costretta  dalla  ragione  della  sua  legge,  che  in  lei  infusamente 
vive,"^  His  definition  of  force  is  very  modern,  though  with  one  or 
two  Medieval  expressions:  ”Forza  dico  essere  una  virtu  spirituals, 

una  potenza  invisibile,  la  quale,  per  accidentals  esterna  violenza, 
e oausata  dal  moto  e collocata  e infusa  ne ’ corpi,  i quali  sono  dal 
loro  naturals  uso  ritratti,  dando  a quelli  vita  attiva  di 
maravigliosa  potenza."^  His  freedom  from  animistic  ideas  appears 
more  clearly  in  his  statements  of  the  principle  of  inertia: 

"Nessuna  cosa  insensata  per  s^  si  move,  ma  il  suo  moto  'b  fatto  da 
altri”;  and  "ogni  moto  naturals  e continue  desidera  conservare  suo 
corso  per  la  linia  del  suo  principio,  cioe,  in  qualunque  loco  esso 
si  varia,  domando  principio.”^ 

Unfortunately,  the  ideas  of  Leonardo  remained  sealed  in 
his  note-books,  and  were  only  slowly  discovered  a second  time  by 
later  men.  It  was  not  by  chance  that  they  reappeared  in  connection 
with  astronomy.  The  Copernican  system  raised  new  and  more  intricate 
problems  of  calculation,  and  by  a more  precise  application  of 
mathematics  to  the  phenomena  of  motion,  led  to  the  development  of 
astronomical  physics. 

Only  those  expert  in  mathematics  and  astronomy  (as  the 
present  writer  is  not)  can  fully  appreciate  the  amount  of  exact 
observation,  calculation,  and  experiment  which  went  to  the  formula- 
tion and  justification  of  the  Copernican  astronomy,  and  the  new 
science  of  motion  involved  in  it.  For  a quarter  of  a century 

^Ibid.  pn.llS,  113. 

?Ibid.  p.  125 

'^Ibid.  pp.125,  136. 


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209 


Tycho  Brahe  gathered  exact  observations  at  his  remarkable  observa- 
tory, Uraniborg;  and  although  Tycho  opposed  the  Copernican  system, 
it  was  with  his  data  that  Kepler  labored  to  perfect  that  system  and 
by  their  study  he  was  compelled  to  abandon  the  animistic  conception 
of  nature.  Kepler  said  of  Tycho  that  he  ’’possessed  riches  which  he, 
like  so  many  rich  men,  did  not  put  to  a right  use.” 

Kepler  was  set  free  from  Medieval  notions  through  his 
patient  mathematical  calculations.  He  began  his  astronomical  study 
with  a predilection  for  ’’forms,”  for  the  explanation  of  the  uni- 
verse in  terms  of  geometrical  figures.  The  difficulties  he 
encountered  incited  him  to  calculations,  and  so  led  to  his  own 
brilliant  discoveries.  His  first  work,  the  Mvsterium  cosmographicum 
(1597),  proceeds,  says  Hbffding, 


’’from  theological  and  Pythagorean  presuppositions. 

He  conceives  the  universe  as  an  image  of  the  Trinity: 
the  centre  corresponds  to  the  Father,  the  surrounding 
sphere  to  the  Son,  and  the  relation  of  the  two  to  one 
another,  expressed  by  the  geometrical  relations  be- 
tween the  different  spheres  in  which  the  planets  move, 
to  the  Spirit;  for  the  divine  Spirit  reveals  Himself 
in  the  harmonious  relation  of  magnitudes  throughout 
the  universe.  Kepler  attempted  to  show  that  the 
five  regular  bodies  postulated  by  Pythagoras,  i.e. 
bodies  all  of  whose  surfaces,  sides,  and  angles  are 
equal,  may  be  situated  in  the  different  spheres  in 
which  the  planets  move.  Thus  the  fundamental  forms 
of  geometry  and  the  distribution  of  the  heavenly 
bodies  in  space  exactly  correspond  with  one  another. 
This  is  the  cosmographical  mystery  over  which  Kepler 
waxed  so  enthusiastic,  and  which  he  retained  as  the 
leading  idea  which  partly  furthered,  partly  checked, 
his  subsequent  investigations.  This  idea  was  an 
expression  of  the  conviction  which  he  never  abandoned 
that  it  must  be  possible  to  point  to  definite 
mathematical  relations  in  the  universe,  and  which 
incited  him  to  ever  new  inquiries.  It  caused  him 
endless  trouble,  however,  on  account  of  the  presup- 
position accepted  by  him  as  well  as  the  whole  of 


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■*^■■‘1.4  • 


210 


antiquity  and  the  Middle  Ages,  viz.  that  the 
heavenly  bodies  must  move  in  circles  because 
the  circle  is  the  most  perfect  figure."^ 

These  a priori  geometrical  conceptions  he  had  to  abandon  when  he 
discovered  by  calculations  that  planets  move  in  ellipses,  not  in 
perfect  circles.  In  a similar  manner  he  was  led  to  reject  the  idea 
expressed  in  the  Mysterium  cosmographicum.  that  planets  have  souls. 
In  the  second  edition  of  that  early  work  he  adds  as  a note  to  the 
expression  ’’moving  souls”  (animae  motrices)  the  observation;  ”In  my 
treatise  on  Mars^  I showed  that  there  are  no  such  things,”  and  sug- 
gests ”force”  as  a substitute  for  the  word  ”soul.”  The  reason  for 
the  change  was  an  observation  in  celestial  mechanics;  ’’Formerly  I 
believed  that  the  force  which  moves  the  planets  was  really  a soul. 
But  when  I reflected  that  this  moving  force  decreases  at  a greater 
distance,  I concluded  it  must  be  corporeal.”  These  changes  in 
Kepler’s  thought  typify  the  whole  transformation  of  thought  by  the 
new  science;  instead  of  souls  and  essences  and  forms,  the  new 
science  investigated  the  laws  of  motion,  especially  by  subjecting 
it  to  measurement;  speculation  gave  way  to  experiment  and  mathe- 
matical calculation;  instead  of  assuming  that  the  world  is  a living 
being,  the  new  science  seemed  to  demonstrate  that  it  is  a lifeless 
machine . 

Contemporaneous  with  Kepler,  Galileo  was  contributing  to 
the  new  science  both  by  his  discovery  of  the  telescope,  which 
brought  so  much  new  data  to  the  confirmation  of  the  new  astronomical 
theories,  and  by  his  researches  into  the  laws  of  motion.  He  dis- 


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312 


Cartesian  dualism.  But  there  were  many  vfho  accepted  the  mechanical 
theory  without  adding  to  it  this  idealistic  superstructure  which 
contradicted  it.  There  was  a general  feeling  that  this  spectacular 
new  science  was  affiliated  with  old  atheistic  philosophies.  And  the 
increasing  popularity  of  the  atomistic  philosophy  of  Democritus, 
Epicurus  and  Lucretius,  affected  not  only  the  general  tone  of 
society  by  stimulating  "libertine”  thought,  but  had  its  influence 
as  well  on  the  new  science.  The  French  philosopher  Gassendi  com- 
bined ancient  atomism  with  the  new  science  of  his  own  day,  and 
thereby  prepared  for  Newton’s  rejection  of  the  vortex  theory  of 
Descartes  and  the  foundation  of  the  modern  atomistic  science. 
Voltaire,  in  his  Elements  of  the  Philosophy  of  Newton,  pointed  out, 
no  doubt  with  great  satisfaction,  this  obligation  of  Newton  to  the 
despised  atheists: 

, "Newton  suivait  les  anciennes  opinions  de  Democrite, 
d'Epicure^^et  d’une  foule  de  philosophes  rectifiees  par 
notre  celebre  Gassendi.  Newton  a dit  plusieurs  fois 
a quelques  franpois  qui  vivent  encore,  qu'il  regardait 
Gassendi  comme  un  esprit  tres  juste  et  tres  sage,  et 
qu’il  ferait  gloire  d’etre  enti^rement  de  son  avis 
dans  toutes  les  choses  dont  on  vient  de  parler."^ 

The  new  science,  therefore,  revived  all  the  old  problems 
of  philosophy  in  a more  acute  and  difficult  form,  and  put  the 
idealistic  and  spiritualistic  tradition  on  the  defensive.  It  pre- 
cipitated a crisis  in  the  history  of  thought.  A re  investigation 
became  necessary  of  the  nature  of  the  soul,  its  connection  with  the 
body,  the  freedom  of  the  will,  as  well  as  of  such  wider  questions  as 
the  nature  of  God  and  his  relation  to  the  universe.  Many  and  diverse 

Quoted  by  Lange,  History  of  Materialism.  Boston  (1881).  I, 267, n. 12. 


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213 


have  been  the  solutions  to  these  problems,  from  the  seventeenth 
century  to  this  day.  The  purpose  of  this  chapter,  however,  is 
merely  to  make  clear  that  this  new  philosophy  of  science  was 
developed  in  the  seventeenth  century,  and  to  investigate  to  what 
extent  English  thought  at  that  time  was  conscious  of  the  new  problem 
and  influenced  by  it. 

Ill 

The  Position  of  Bacon 

In  England  as  elsewhere  the  theological  opposition  to  the 
Copernican  system  was  successful  until  far  into  the  seventeenth 
century,  and  the  Ptolemaic  astronomy  ruled  the  popular  imagination. 
But  a few  liberal  and  curious  students  followed  the  new  discoveries 
with  genuine  scientific  interest  and  thoroughness.  Among  these  was 
John  Donne,  who  in  the  passage  from  The  First  Anniversary  quoted 
above,  shows  that  he  appreciated  something  of  the  revolutionary 
significance  of  the  new  astronomy.  Donne  apparently  did  not  get  his 
information  at  second  hand.  In  1611,  the  year  in  which  he  wrote 
this  poem,  he  also  published  his  Conclave  Ignatii . which  indicates 
an  enthusiastic  study  of  Copernicus  and  Tycho  Brahe  and  a knowledge 
of  the  publications  of  Galileo  and  Kepler  as  recent  as  that  year 
and  the  preceding,  — with  such  eagerness  did  he  follow  the  latest 
researches.^  It  needs  to  be  frequently  repeated  that  Donne  was  one 
of  the  most  modern  minds  of  his  age. 

^Gosse,  Life  and  Letters  of  John  Donne . I,  257. 


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314 


Fulke  Greville,  Sidney’s  friend,  who  took  a despondent 
view  of  most  things  in  the  world,  knew  something  of  the  new  science 
and  was  apparently  a reader  of  Bacon's  Advancement  of  Learning. 

But  he  had  little  of  Bacon's  confidence  in  scientific  effort,  except 
for  some  practical  purposes,  and  he  was  sceptical  towards  the  new 
science : 

"Nay  we  doe  bring  the  influence  of  starres, 

Yea  God  Himself e euen,  under  moulds  of  Arts; 

Yet  all  our  Arts  cannot  preuaile  so  farre, 

As  to  confirms  our  eyes,  resolue  our  hearts, 

Whether  the  heauens  doe  stand  still  or  moue, 

Were  fram'd  by  Chance,  Antipathie,  or  Loue. 

Then  what  is  our  high-prais'd  Philosophie , ^ 

But  bookes  of  poesie,  in  prose  compil'd?" 

Especially  remarkable  is  the  attitude  of  Bacon  towards  the 
new  science.  Bacon  was  the  most  illustrious  and  most  successful 
of  the  many  theorizers  of  the  Renaissance  who  sought  a new  method 
of  knowledge.  He  declared  that  he  was  the  trumpeter,  announcing 
the  victorious  entry  of  a new  age.^  In  this  role  he  was  accepted, 
and  his  prestige  in  the  seventeenth  century  as  the  founder  of 
inductive  science  was  European.^  His  influence  on  modern  thought 
has  been  immeasurable;  he  has  come  to  typify  the  modern  spirit  of 
progress  based  on  a scientific  study  of  nature.  His  unfinished 
romance,  The  New  Atlantis . was  continued  in  real  life  by  the  Royal 
Society.  And  yet,  when  we  ask,  not  what  his  influence  was,  what 
part  of  his  work  inspired  a later  age,  but  what  was  his  philosophy 


Fulke  Greville,  Lord  Brooke,  A Treatise  of  Human  Learning.  Works, 
ed.  Grosart.  II,  17. 

*^Adv.  of  Learning.  IV,  i.  Works,  ed.  Spedding,  Boston  (1882).  IX, 
13-T4.  ~~^f. Novum  Organum.  I,  xxxv.  Works.  VIII,  75. 

^See  De  Remusat,  Bacon.  Sa  Vie . Son  Temus.  Sa  Philosonhie . Paris 
(1857).  pp. 400-430. 


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215 


as  a whole  as  Bacon  himself  expounded  it,  he  appears  strangely 
medieval.  He  stood  on  the  threshold  of  modern  times,  but  hesitated 
to  enter.  He  looked  forward,  but  he  was  in  many  ways  a member  of 
the  past  tradition.  And  to  understand  Bacon  himself,  as  well  as  his 
time,  we  must  study  these  antiquated  aspects  of  his  philosophy. 

Like  Descartes  and  the  other  "moderns”  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  Bacon  regarded  the  past  somewhat  contemptuously,  and 
desired  to  break  violently  with  it.  Plato  and  Aristotle  as  well  as 
the  schoolmen  had  followed  wrong  methods;  Bacon  valued  Democritus 
more.  What  he  criticized  most  was  the  metaphysical  tendency  which 
in  the  Middle  Ages  became  Realism: 

"The  human  understanding,"  he  said,  "is  of  its 
own  nature  prone  to  abstractions  and  gives  a sub- 
stance and  reality  to  things  which  are  fleeting. 

But  to  resolve  nature  into  abstractions  is  less 
to  our  purpose  than  to  dissect  her  into  parts; 
as  did  the  school  of  Democritus,  which  went  further 
into  nature  than  the  rest.  Matter  rather  than 
forms  should  be  the  object  of  our  attention,  its 
configurations  and  changes  of  configuration,  and 
simple  action,  and  law  of  action  or  motion;  for 
forms  are  figments  of  the  human  mind,  unless  you 
will  call  those  laws  of  action  forms. 


Strangely  enough,  in  the  second  book  of  the  Novum  Organim 
Bacon  used  throughout  the  term  Form  to  express  the  object  of  true 
scientific  knowledge.  He  adopts  it  only  after  a criticism  of  the 
Aristotelian  four  causes,  and  wants  to  give  the  old  term  a new 
significance; 

"In  what  an  ill  condition  human  knowledge  is  at 
the  present  time,  is  apparent  even  from  the  commonly 
received  maxims.  It  is  a correct  position  that  'true 
knowledge  is  knowledge  by  causes.'  And  causes  again 
are  not  improperly  distributed  into  four  kinds;  the 


Novum  Qrganum.  I,  51.  Ed.  cit.  VIII,  83. 


2ih  *»d  4e  »XodiSv-<D 

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216 


material,  the  formal,  the  efficient,  and  the  final. 
But  of  these  the  final  cause  rather  corrupts  than 
advances  the  sciences,  except  such  as  have  to  do 
with  human  action.  The  discovery  of  the  formal  is 
despaired  of.  The  efficient  and  the  material  (as 
they  are  investigated  and  received,  that  is,  as 
remote  causes,  without  reference  to  the  latent 
process  leading  to  the  form)  are  hut  slight  and 
superficial,  and  contribute  little,  if  anything, 
to  true  and  active  science.  Nor  have  I forgotten 
that  in  a former  passage  I noted  and  corrected  as 
an  error  of  the  human  mind  the  opinion  that  Forms 
give  existence.  For  though  in  nature  nothing  really 
exists  beside  individual  bodies,  performing  pure 
individual  acts  according  to  a fixed  law,  yet  in 
philosophy  this  very  law,  and  the  investigation, 
discovery,  and  explanation  of  it,  is  the  foundation 
as  well  of  knowledge  as  of  operation.  And  it  is 
this  law,  with  its  clauses,  that  I mean  when  I 
speak  of  Forms:  a name  which  I the  rather  adopt  . 
because  it  has  grown  into  use  and  become  fam.iliar . 


But  over  these  Forms  Bacon  stumbled.  For,  though  he  in 
some  places  spoke  of  Forms  as  the  laws  of  action,  in  other  places 
he  slipped  into  language  difficult  to  distinguish  from  the 
scholasticism  he  despised.  For  instance,  he  says  that  "the  Form  of 
a thing  is  the  very  thing  itself,  and  the  thing  differs  from  the 
form  no  otherwise  than  as  the  apparent  differs  from  the  real,  or 
the  external  from  the  internal,  or  the  thing  in  reference  to  man 
from  the  thing  in  reference  to  the  universe."^  By  certain  "Shining 
Instances,"  or  as  we  should  say,  crucial  experiments,  he  hopes  to 
"exhibit  the  nature  in  question  naked  and  standing  by  itself,  and 
also  in  its  exaltation  or  highest  degree  of  power."  Therefore, 
although  he  warns  against  conceiving  the  Forms  in  the  accustomed 
sense,  and  declares  that  "the  Form  of  Heat  or  the  Form  of  Light  is 


^Novum  Organum.  II,  2.  Ed.cit.  VIII,  168. 

o Novum  Organum.  11,13.  Ed.cit.  VIII,  193. 

Nov.  Org.  II,  24.  Ed.cit.  VIII,  223. 


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217 


the  same  thing  as  the  Law  of  Heat  or  the  Law  of  Light, still  the 
"Law  of  Heat”  which  he  gives  as  an  illustration  of  his  method  is 
not  a law,  but  a definition.  His  ’’First  Vintage”  leads  him  to  the 
conclusion  that, 

’’from  a survey  of  the  instances,  all  and  each,  the 
nature  of  which  Heat  is  a particular  case  appears 
to  be  Motion.  . . When  I say  of  Motion  that  it  is 
as  the  genus  of  which  heat  is  a species,  I would 
be  understood  to  mean,  not  that  heat  generates 
motion  or  that  motion  generates  heat  Tthough  both 
are  true  in  certain  oases),  but  that  Heat  itself, 
its  essence  and  quiddity,  is  Motion  and  nothing 
e Ise . ”2 

Bacon  wished,  as  he  said,  to  dissect  nature  into  parts;  by 
a sort  of  analysis,  he  wanted  to  isolate  the  elements,  or  as  he 
called  them.  Simple  Forms,  and  arrange  them  in  some  significant 
classification.  This  is  intelligible.  But  he  was  searching  also 
for  the  laws  of  nature,  the  secrets  of  her  transformations;  here  he 
was  baffled,  and  mysteriously  identified  laws  and  forms.  In  the 
confusion  the  essential  idea  of  law,  namely  the  dependence  of  one 
phenomenon  on  another,  tended  to  get  obscured,  and  the  idea  of  form 
as  the  essence  or  quiddity  of  a thing  came  into  the  foreground  as 
the  aim  of  scientific  research. 

In  working  out  his  theories  Bacon  was  of  course  hampered 
by  the  imperfect  development  of  science  in  his  day,  as  well  as  by 
his  own  ignorance.  His  aim  was  to  resolve  the  physical  world  into 
qualitative  differences;  but  qualitative  differences  are  not  suf- 
ficient to  explain  processes.  Modern  science  has  also  accepted 


hoz.  0^.  II,  17.  Ed.  cit.  VIII,  205-6. 
^Nov.  0^.  II,  20.  Ed.  cit.  VIII,  211. 


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218 


Bacon’s  striking  hypothesis  that  heat  is  a form  of  motion.  But  the 
laws  of  heat  are  arrived  at  by  measurement,  not  by  deductions  from 
a definition.  As  Hoff ding  has  said,  because  Bacon  was  unable  to 
resolve  qualitative  differences  into  quantitative,  he  could  not 
reconcile  his  two  conceptions  of  Forms  as  elements  and  as  laws.^ 
Preoccupied  in  this  blind-alley.  Bacon  ignored  the 
scientific  work  of  his  famous  contemporaries,  Galileo  and  Kepler. 
Mathematics  he  had  little  taste  for.  He  therefore  occupies  a 
position  paradoxical  for  the  ”fo\mder  of  modern  science,"  of  not 
understanding  those  fruitful  discoveries  in  his  own  time  on  which 
the  modern  philosophy  of  science  is  based.  He  never  conceived  of 
a mechanical  universe  in  which  the  laws  of  motion  could  be  expressed 
in  mathematical  terms.  It  is  because  the  principles  of  mechanics 
are  absent  from  his  conception  of  law,  that  it  is  clouded  with 
difficulties  for  modern  readers.  No  one  familiar  with  the  laws 
of  motion  could  use  the  bewildering  term  "Form"  to  signify  a law 
of  nature. 

Bacon  was  therefore  never  troubled  by  the  problem  of 
materialism  as  stated  by  the  new  science.  In  some  places  he  seem.s 
indeed  to  lean  towards  materialism.  He  objected,  notablyj  to  final 
causes,  that  great  mainstay  of  rational  theology,  because  they 
belong,  he  said,  to  Metaphysics,  not  to  Physics.  Their  introduction 
into  physics  has  been  "a  great  misfortune  to  philosophy." 

"For  the  handling  of  final  causes  in  physics 
has  driven  away  and  overthrown  the  diligent  inquiry 
of  physical  causes,  and  made  men  to  stay  upon  these 
specious  and  shadowy  causes,  without  actively  pressing 

^H6ffding,  op.  cit.  I,  202. 


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219 


the  inquiry  of  those  which  are  are  really  and 
truly  physical;  to  the  great  arrest  and  prejudice 
of  science.  For  this  I find  done,  not  only  by 
Plato,  who  ever  anchors  upon  that  shore,  but  also 
by  Aristotle,  Galen,  and  others,  who  also  very 
frequently  strike  upon  these  shallows.  . . 

And  therefore  the  natural  philosophy  of  Democritus 
and  others  who  removed  God  and  Mind  from  the 
structure  of  things,  and  attributed  the  form 
thereof  to  infinite  essays  and  proofs  of  nature 
(which  they  termed  by  one  name.  Fate  or  Fortune), 
and  assigned  the  causes  of  particular  things  to 
the  necessity  of  matter,  without  any  intermixture 
of  final  causes,  seems  to  me  . . .to  have  been, 
as  regards  physical  causes,  much  more  solid  and 
to  have  penetrated  further  into  nature  than  that 
of  Aristotle  and  Plato;  for  this  single  reason, 
that  the  former  never  wasted  time  on  final  causes, 
while  the  latter  were  ever  inculcating  them."^ 

But  he  goes  on  to  say  on  the  next  page  that  the  study  of  physical 

causes,  so  far  from  being  atheistical,  leads  inevitably  to  God  at 

the  last.  His  criticism  of  final  causes  is  therefore  not  to  be 

taken  as  a sign  of  materialistic  leanings.  Enlightened  men  before 

Bacon  had  ridiculed  the  superstition  of  reading  the  will  of  God  in 

all  the  movements  of  nature,  after  the  manner,  as  Gabriel  Harvey 

2 

wrote  Spenser,  "of  women  Philosophers,  and  Divines."  Already  in 
the  Renaissance  men  could  doubt  the  profitableness  of  seeking  final 
causes,  without  necessarily  drawing  upon  themselves  the  suspicion 
of  atheism  or  materialism. 

In  his  belief  in  the  continuity  and  system  of  knowledge 
Bacon  manifests  a distinct  affinity  with  m.edieval  idealism  rather 
than  with  the  new  science.  Bacon  believed  in  a gradation  of  ideas 


^De  Augrmentis.  Book  III,  Ed.cit.  VIII,  508-510. 

%arvey‘s  letters  to  Spenser  in  1580  are  a witty  attack  on  the 
superstitious  interpretations  of  the  recent  earthquake. 


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220 


which  reminds  one  of  that  medieval  scale  of  universals  called  the 
Tree  of  Porphyry.^ 


"For,”  he  says,  "Knowledges  are  as  pyramids, 
whereof  history  and  experience  are  the  basis.  And 
so  of  Natural  Philosophy  the  basis  is  Natural  History; 
the  stage  next  the  basis  is  Physic;  the  stage  next 
the  vertical  point  is  Metaphysic.  As  for  the  cone 
and  vertical  point  (’the  work  which  God  worketh 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end, ’2  namely,  the 
summary  law  of  nature)  it  may  fairly  be  doubted 
whether  man’s  inquiry  can  attain  to  it. ”3 


In  another  passage,  under  the  figure  of  the  horns  of  Pan,  he  applies 
the  pyramidal  idea  to  nature  itself,  reaching  upwards  continuously 
to  the  divine; 


"For  all  nature  rises  to  a point  like  a pyramid. 
Individuals,  which  lie  at  the  base  of  nature,  are 
infinite  in  number;  these  are  collected  into  Species, 
which  are  themselves  manifold;  the  Species  rise 
again  into  Genera;  which  also  by  continual  gradations 
are  contracted  into  more  universal  generalities,  so 
that  at  last  nature  seems  to  end  as  it  were  in  unity; 
as  is  signified  by  the  pyramidal  form  of  the  horns  of 
Pan.  Nor  need  we  wonder  if  the  horns  of  Pan  reach 
even  to  the  heaven,  seeing  that  the  transcendentals  of 
nature,  or  universal  ideas  do  in  a manner  reach  up  to 
divinity.  And  hence  the  famous  chain  of  Homer  (that 
is,  the  chain  of  natural  causes)  was  said  to  be 
fastened  to  the  foot  of  Jupiter’s  throne;  and  we 
see  that  no  one  has  handled  metaphysics  and  the 
eternal  and  immovable  in  nature,  and  withdrawn  his 
mind  for  awhile  from  the  variable  succession  of  things, 
without  falling  at  once  on  Natural  Theology;  so  easy 
and  near  a passage  is  it  from  the  top  of  the  pyramid 
to  matters  divine.’’^ 


See  above.  Chap.  I,  p.  4. 

?Ecoles.  iii,  11. 

De  Augment is.  Book  III.  Ed.  cit.  VIII,  507. 
*^00  Augment  is.  Book  II.  Ed.  cit.  VIII,  449. 


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221 


How  knowledge  of  matter  can  lead  to  spiritual  knowledge  Bacon  does 
not  make  clear;  his  faith  in  this  continuity  was  in  fact  a confusion 
of  inductive  science  with  the  old  scholastic  philosophy.  It  was 
the  same  Medieval  faith  which  Milton  made  Gabriel  expound  to  Adam, 
who  replied: 

"0  favourable  spirit,  propitious  guest. 

Well  hast  thou  taught  the  way  that  might  direct 
Our  knowledge,  and  the  scale  of  Nature  set 
From  centre  to  circumference,  whereon 
In  contemplation  of  created  things 
By  steps  we  may  ascend  to  God."l 

This  faith  the  new  mechanical  science  destroyed,  when  it  forced 
upon  the  seventeenth  century  a troublesome  dualism  of  mind  and 
matter,  of  spirit  and  motion.  Bacon  contributed  nothing  to  this 
great  metaphysical  discussion  of  the  next  age;  in  his  first 
principles  he  belonged  too  much  to  the  past. 

In  so  far  as  he  touched  on  the  traditional  metaphysical 
questions,  such  as  the  nature  of  the  soul  and  of  God,  he  was 
inclined,  as  in  the  passages  quoted,  to  doubt  the  power  of  the 
human  reason  to  understand  them.  This  doubt  did  not  imply  any 
break  in  the  continuity  of  nature;  it  was  the  humility  of  human 
reason  recognizing  its  limitations.  Though  Bacon  therefore  had  a 
firm  belief  in  the  power  of  man  to  know  the  material  world  and 
master  it,  he  left  open  the  problems  of  the  spiritual  world  and 
frankly  admitted  that  their  solution  must  be  sought  in  faith  and 
revelation.  He  accepted  the  distinction  currently  made  in  his  time 
between  the  ’’sensible  soul”  and  the  ’’rational  soul,”  or  spirit.  The 

^Paradise  Lost,  Book  V,  11.  507-512. 


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former,  the  "soul  of  brutes,  must  clearly  be  regarded  as  a corporeal 
substance,"  and  he  thought  that  a more  diligent  inquiry  might 
profitably  be  made  into  it.^  But  as  regards  the  rational  soul  we 
can  only  know  certainly  its  faculties  or  functions;  its  substance 
and  nature  must  remain  a mystery  to  philosophy. 

the  considerations  of  the  original  of  the 
soul,  whether  it  be  native  or  advent ive,  and  how 
far  it  is  exempted  from  laws  of  matter,  and  of  the 
immortality  thereof,  and  many  other  points  .... 
have  not  been  more  laboriously  enquired  than 
variously  reported;  so  as  the  travail  therein  taken 
seemeth  to  have  been  rather  in  a maze  than  in  a way. 

But  although  I am  of  opinion  that  this  knowledge 
may  be  more  really  and  soundly  enquired,  even  in 
nature,  than  it  hath  been;  yet  I hold  that  in  the 
end  it  must  be  bounded  by  religion,  or  else  it 
will  be  subject  to  deceit  and  delusion;  for  as 
the  substance  of  the  soul  in  the  creation  was 
not  extracted  out  of  the  mass  of  heaven  and  earth 
by  the  benediction  of  a oroducat . but  was  immedi- 
ately inspired  from  God;  so  it  is  not  possible 
that  it  should  be  (otherwise  than  by  accident) 
subject  to  the  laws  of  heaven  and  earth,  which 
are  the  subject  of  ohilosophv;  and  therefore  the 
true  knowledge  of  the  nature  and  state  of  the 
soul,  must  come  by  the  same  inspiration  that  gave 
the  substance. "2 

Bacon  was  likewise  careful  not  to  let  his  science  encroach  upon  the 
territory  of  Divinity.  For,  although  "the  use  of  reason  in 
spiritual  things,  and  the  latitude  thereof,  is  very  great  and 
general:  for  it  is  not  for  nothing  that  the  apostle  calleth 

religion  our  reasonable  service  of  God. " yet  he  does  not  believe 
that  religion  can  be  founded  on  "the  light  of  nature."  "For  it  is 
written,  Coeli  enarrant  glor iam  Dei . but  it  is  not  written,  Coeli 


^De  Augment is.  Book  IV.  Ed.  cit.  IX,  48-51. 
•"Advancement  of  Learning.  Book  II.  Ed. cit.  VI,  254. 


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223 


enarrant .voluntatem  De i . ” ^ On  the  "true  limits  and  use  of  reason 
in  spiritual  things"  Bacon  felt  there  was  a need  of  much  more 
study  and  discussion.  But  he  was  not  among  those  who  cultivated 
"natural  theology";  the  study  of  the  physical  universe  points  to 
the  existence  of  God,  but  he  can  be  kno'jra  only  by  revelation. 

In  the  eighteenth  century,  the  Encyclopedists,  who  uni- 
formly praised  Bacon  as  the  founder  of  science,  as  the  greatest, 
most  universal  and  most  eloquent  of  philosophers,  referred  to  Bacon’s 
concessions  to  religion  as  a weakness  of  his  character,  sometimes 

even  as  an  intentional  insincerity,  a disgu.ise  adopted  to  escape 
2 

persecution.  But  the  eighteenth  century  always  saw  insincerity  in 
ideas  which  it  could  not  understand.  No  doubt  there  was  much  dis- 
simulation of  religion  in  the  Renaissance,  when  persecution  was  rife. 
The  doctrine  of  the  "double  truth"  undoubtedly  served  Pomponatius 
merely  as  a disguise.  But  Bacon  never  suggests  that  what  may  be 
true  for  philosophy  can  be  false  in  religion;  he  seems  on  the  con- 
trary always  to  imply  that  all  truth  is  of  one  texture,  but  that, 
as  human  reason  cannot  grasp  the  truths  of  Divinity,  philosophy 
adumbrates  into  mystery.  Bacon  had  too  genuine  a sense  of  the 
necessity  of  religion  to  have  been  a materialist.  And  granting  the 
necessity  of  religion,  in  Bacon’s  time  one  had  to  accept  as  the 
basis  and  support  of  it,  either  revelation  or  rational  theology. 
Bacon  had  to  speak  in  the  language  of  his  day.  There  is  no  good 
reason  for  thinking  that  it  was  insincere  merely  because  it  was 
antiquated.  Bacon,  the  "founder  of  modern  science,"  belongs 

^Adv.  ^of  Learning.  Book  II.  Ed.cit.  VI,  394-5. 

^De  Remusat,  Bacon,  pp.  424-ff. 


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324 


philosophically  to  the  age  before  Kepler  and  Galileo,  to  the 
sixteenth  rather  than  the  seventeenth  century.  And  therefore  not 
only  was  he  not  a materialist  himself,  but  he  did  not  think  through 
the  problem  of  materialism  in  its  modern  terms.  This  problem  was 
attacked  only  after  his  time,  by  Hobbes,  who  accepted  the  material- 
istic solution,  and  by  the  Cambridge  Platonists,  who  rejected  it. 

IV 

The  Materialism  of  Hobbes 

The  mental  history  of  Hobbes  is  typical  of  the  mathemat- 
ical and  physical  preoccupations  of  the  seventeenth  century.  His 
philosophical  awakening  came,  according-  to  the  gossipy  Aubrey,  at 
the  age  of  forty,  when  he  accidentally  opened  a book  of  Euclid  and 
became  enchanted  by  the  certainty  of  mathematical  demonstration. 
Along  with  Euclid  he  studied  Galileo,  from  whom,  there  is  ample 
evidence,  both  internal  and  external,  he  derived  his  fundamental 
mechanical  theory  which  he  applied  both  to  the  world  and  to  man.^ 
His  first  work,  A Short  Tract  on  First  Princinles  (oa.l630),  shows 
him  in  the  process  of  adjusting  himself  to  the  new  philosophy. 

"It  shows  the  author,”  says  Sorley,  ”so  much 
impressed  by  his  reading  of  Euclid  as  to  adopt  the 
geometrical  form  (soon  afterwards  used  by  Descartes) 
for  the  expression  of  his  argument.  It  shows 
further  that  he  had  already  fixed  on  the  conception 
of  motion  as  fundamental  for  the  explanation  of  things, 
but  also  that  he  had  not  yet  relinquished  the 
scholastic  doctrine  of  species  in  explaining 
action  and  perception. 


JSorley,  W.R. , History  of  English  Philosophy,  Cambridge (1920) . p.49. 
“^Sorley,  op.  cit.  p.  WO . 


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225 


Motion  became  with  Hobbes  the  first  principle  of 
philosophy,  and  he  applied  the  idea  not  only  to  the  physical  world, 
but  to  man  and  society.  Of  Aristotle's  four  causes,  he  recognized 
only  the  material  and  efficient  as  real;  the  term  "formal  cause" 
he  regarded  as  a mere  juggling  of  words,  and  the  final  cause,  he 
said,  is  always  reducible  to  efficient  cause. ^ All  cases  are  there- 
fore ultimately  reducible  to  motion.  A complete  science  should 
begin  with  a study  of  simple  motions,  then  proceed  to  more  complex 
motions  in  geometry,  thence  to  physics,  until  we  reach  the  most 
complex  motions  in  "moral  philosophy,  in  which  we  are  to  consider 
the  motions  of  the  mind  . . . what  causes  they  have,  and  of  what 
they  be  causes."^  The  soul  is  thus  ass-umed  to  be  a part  of  the 
mechanical  world,  a sort  of  thin,  filmy  substance. 


"By  the  name  of  spirit. " he  says,  "we  understand 
a body  natural,  but  of  such  subtiltv.  that  it  worketh 
not  upon  the  senses;  but  that  filleth  up  the  place 
which  the  image  of  a visible  body  might  fill  up.  Our 
conception  therefore  of  spirit  consisteth  of  f igure 
without  colour;  and  in  figure  is  understood  dimension, 
and  consequently,  to  conceive  a spirit,  is  to  conceive 
something  that  hath  dimension.  But  spirits  supernatural 
commonly  signify  some  substance  without  dim.ension; 
which  two  words  do  flatly  contradict  one  another. "3 


Hobbes  declared  himself  willing  to  accept  on  faith  the 
existence  of  such  incomprehensible  beings  as  God  and  the  Angels, 
though  he  suggested  maliciously  that  "the  Scripture  favoureth  them 
more,  that  hold  angels  and  spirits  corporeal,  than  them  that  hold 


^Hobbes,  Elements  of  Philosophy.  Part  II,  Chap.  10,  sec.  7.  English 
Works,  ed.  Molesworth,  I,  131-2. 

^E laments  of  Philosophy,  Part  I,  Chap.  6,  especially  sections  5 and 
6^  Ed.cit.  I,  65-ff. 

Hobbes,  Human  Hature , Chap.  XI,  sec.  4.  Ed.cit.,  IV,  60-61. 


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the  contrary."^  The  ironical  intention  of  the  argument  is 
undeniable.  Under  his  outward  acceptance  of  Christianity  in  such 
form  as  the  king  or  the  regular  establishment  might  please  to  pre- 
scribe, Hobbes  concealed  a nature  in  which  the  religious  instincts 
remained  undeveloped.  He  had  neither  the  religious  nor  the 
philosophic  nor  the  scientific  imagination  of  Bacon.  His  nature 
was  put  to  a crucial  test  in  his  mid-career  when  he  was  asked  for 
comments  on  Descartes’  Discours . His  o?m  mechanical  and  material- 
istic philosophy  was  already  definitely  formulated,  and  he 
inevitably  opposed  it  to  the  idealism  of  Descartes.  But  his  manner 
was  as  tart  as  his  objections  were  keen;  in  a paragraph  he  reduced 
the  whole  spiritualistic  philosophy  to  corporeal  motion: 


”Que  dirons-nous  maintenant,”  Hobbes  wrote  to 
Descartes,  ”si  peut-etre  le  raisonnement  n’est 
rien  autre  chose  qu'un  assemblage  et  un  enchainement 
de  noms  par  ce  mot  est?  D’ou  il  s'ensuivrait  que 
par  la  raison  nous  ne  ooncluons  rien  du  tout 
touchant  la  nature  des  chose s,  mais  seulement 
touchant  leurs  appellations;  c'est-a-dire  que 
par  elle  nous  voyons  simplement  si  nous  assemblons 
bien  ou  mal  les  noms  des  choses,  selon  les  con- 
ventions que  nous  avons  faites  ^a  notre  fantaisie 
touchant  leurs  significations.  Si  cela  est  ainsi, 
comme  il  peut  etre,  le  raisonnement  d^pendra  des 
noms  de  1' imagination,  et  1' imagination  peut-Stre 
(et  ceci  selon  mon  sentiment)  du  mouvem.ent  des 
organes  corporels,  et  ainsi  1’ esprit  ne  sera 
rien  autre  chose  qu'un  mouvement  en  certaines 
parties  du  corps  organique . "S 


Both  men  were  irritated  by  the  lack  of  sympathy  of  the  other,  and 
their  relations  never  passed  beyond  an  acquaintance. 


^Hurnan  Nature , Chap.  XI,  sec.  2 and  5.  Id.cit.  IV,  59-62. 

‘^Descartes,  Troisiemes  Objections  Centre  les  Meditations.  Oeuvres, 
ed.  Simon,  pp,  198-9. 


V ■31 


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227 


The  coolness  between  Descartes  and  Hobbes  was  natural, 
in  view  of  their  fundamental  difference  in  aims.  Hobbes  was  the 
first  who  extended  the  new  philosophy  of  science  into  a complete 
philosophy  of  man  and  society.  Descartes  limited  the  mechanical 
theory  to  the  inanimate  world  and  to  animals,  and  constructed  on 
another  basis  an  idealistic  and  spiritualistic  philosophy  which 
had  much  in  common  with  Plato,  Augustine  and  Anselm.  The  English 
opponents  of  Hobbes  therefore  found  their  best  support  in  Descartes; 
for  half  a century  Cartesian  dualism  was  in  England  the  generally 
accepted  solution  of  the  problem  of  materialism,  not  only  among 
the  apologists  for  religion,  but  even  among  the  scientists  of  the 
Royal  Society. 


V 

The  Opposition  to  Hobbes:  Cartesianism  and  Scepticism 

About  the  middle  of  the  century  there  appeared  at 
Cambridge  a group  of  remarkable  men,  nourished  on  Platonism,  hig;h- 
bred  and  sweetly  reasonable  amid  the  tumult  and  fanaticism  of  the 
Puritan  upheaval,  and  distinguished  from  the  rationalism  and  indif- 
ference of  the  Restoration  by  their  sincere  reverence  for  the 
Christian  religion  ”as  a doctrine  sent  from  God  both  to  elevate  and 
sweeten  human  nature.”  In  a period  of  episcopal  degeneracy,  the 
English  Church  would  have  ’’quite  lost  her  esteem  over  the  nation,” 
wrote  Gilbert  Burnet,  in  his  History  of  His  Own  Times,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  appearance  of  this  ”new  set  of  men  of  another  stamp. 

^Camb.Hist.  of  Eng.  Lit. . VIII,  311. 


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238 


Open-minded  in  religion  and  theology,  these  men  were  quick  to  grasp 

the  philosophical  problem  raised  by  the  new  science,  and  in  defense 

of  their  religious  feeling  and  Platonic  thought,  threw  themselves 

into  the  new  conflict  with  materialism. 

Of  these  men,  the  most  distinguished  were  Ralph  Cudworth 

and  Henry  More.  Both  accepted  the  new  science  and  the  new 

astronomy.  More  declares  that  "it  is  plain  to  any  man  that  is  not 

prejudic'd"  that  Galileo's  "System  of  the  world  is  more  naturall  & 

genuine  than  that  of  Tycho's."^  Cudworth  did  not  dispute  the  new 

science,  but  objected  to  a materialistic  interpretation  of  it. 

Imbued  with  the  older  notion  that  truth  is  purest  at  its  source 

in  antiquity,  he  distinguished  in  his  learned  work,  The  True 

Intellectual  System  of  the  Universe  (16?8),  between  the  ancient 

atheistic  and  theistic  atomism,  the  latter  of  which  he  believed  to 

2 

be  derived  from  Moses.  From  such  heights  of  learning  he  felt  him- 
self able  easily  to  weigh  and  estimate  the  atomistic  science  of  his 
contemporaries,  who  were  merely  reviving  ancient  doctrine , "and  that 
with  no  small  pomp  and  ostentation  of  wisdom  and  philosophy." 

Both  More  and  Cudworth  directed  their  polemics  especially 
against  Hobbes,  and  both  approved  of  Descartes,  though  with  some 
reservations.  In  the  preface  to  the  treatise  on  The  Immortality 
of  the  Soul,  a treatise  refuting  Hobbes'  doctrine  that  the  soul 

3 

is  material.  More  declares  that  he  thinks  "it  is  the  most  sober 


^More,  Philosophical  Poems.  Cambridge  (1647) . p.390. 
^Intellectual  System.  Book  I,  Chap.  1,  sec.  10.  Ed. London  (1743) 

Ig  12. 

More,  Immortality  of  the  Soul.  London(l662) . Chaps.  VIII-XII. 
pp.  34-49. 


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829 


and  faithful  advice  that  can  be  offered  to  the 
Christian  World,  that  they  would  encourage  the 
reading  of  Des-Cartes  in  all  publick  Schools 
and  Universities.  That  the  Students  of  Philosophy 
may  be  thoroughly  exercised  in  the  just  extent  of 
the  Mechanical  powers  of  Matter,  how  farre  they 
will  reach,  and  where  they  fall  short.  Which  will  . 
be  the  best  assistance  to  Religion  that  Reason  and 
the  Knowledge  of  Nature  can  afford.  For  by  this 
means  such  as  are  intended  to  serve  the  Church 
will  be  armed  betimes  with  sufficient  strength 
to  grapple  with  their  proudest  Deriders  or  Opposers. 
Whenas  for  want  of  this,  we  see  how  liable  they  are 
to  be  contemned  and  born  down  by  every  bold,  though 
weak,  pretender  to  the  Meohanick  Philosophy."^ 


Cudworth  gives  Descartes  the  high  praise  of  having  revived  the  right 
kind,  the  theistic  atoinism  of  Moschus,  whom  Cudworth  identified  with 
Moses: 

"For  Ren at us  Cartesius  first  revived  and 
restored  the  atomick  philosophy,  agreeably,  for 
the  most  part,  to  that  ancient  Moschical  and 
Pythagoriok  form;  acknowledging  besides  extended 
substance  and  corporeal  atoms,  another  cogitative 
incorporeal  substance,  and  joyning  metaphysicks 
or  theology,  together  with  physiology,  to  make 
up  one  entire  system  of  philosophy."^ 


After  some  strictures  on  Descartes,  he  unreservedly  condemns  Hobbes, 
though  not  naming  him: 


"But  shortly  after  this  Cartesian  restitution 
of  the  primitive  atomology,  that  acknowledgeth 
incorporeal  substance,  we  have  had  our  Leucippus 
and  Democritus  too,  who  also  revived  and  brought 
upon  the  stage  that  other  atheistick  atomology, 
that  makes  sensless  and  lifeless  at oms  to  be  the 
only  principles  of  all  things  in  the  uniyerse : 
thereby  necessarily  excluding,  besides  incorporeal 
substance  and  immortality  of  souls,  a Deity  and 
natural  morality;  as  also  making  all  actions  and 
events  materially  and  mechanically  necessary."*^ 


Jibid.  Preface . 

^CudwortE^i  op.  cit . Book  I,  Chap.  3,  sec.  38.  Ed.cit.  I,  174-5. 
Ibid.  I.  175.  


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Whatever  influence  the  Cambridge  Platonists  may  have  had 
on  the  tone  of  English  life,  they  were  unsuccessful  in  checking 
materialism.  ”The  modern  Atheists."  wrote  Glanvill,  "are  pretenders 
to  the  me chan i ok  principles  . . . the  modern  Sadduce  pretends  that 
all  things  we  dOj  are  performed  by  meer  matter,  and  motion,  and 
consequently  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  an  immaterial  being. 

But  inasmuch  as  the  new  science,  which  was  generally  accepted, 
logically  led  to  materialism,  the  idealistic  philosophy  as  well  as 
the  Christian  religion  could  find  a place  in  human  life  only  be' 
restricting  the  limits  of  science.  The  apologists  for  the  Royal 
Society  therefore  carefully  distinguished  between  atheistic  science, 
which  dogmatically  defined  everything  in  materialistic  terms  and 
pretended  to  know  the  ultimate  secrets  of  the  universe,  and  their 
O'vvn  more  humble,  but  more  accurate,  work  of  ascertaining  the 
characteristics  and  laws  of  the  material  world.  "The  Royal  Society, 
is  abundantly  cautious,"  wrote  Sprat,  its  historian,  "not  to  inter- 
meddle in  Spiritual  Things. " It  is  idle  to  suppose  that  they 
solved  a question  which  is  still  debated.  Our  concern  here  is 
merely  historical,  to  show  how  this  problem  forced  a critique  of 
science  and  of  the  human  reason. 

The  first  consequence  of  this  new  problem  was  a divorce  of 
science  and  theology.  So  long  as  science  and  theology  remained 
intimately  united,  as  in  the  Aristotelianism  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
scientific  progress  seemed  inconceivable.  But  already  in  the  Middle 
Ages  we  have  seen  philosophy  struggling  for  independence,  under  the 
theory  of  the  "double  truth."  With  the  secularization  of  learning 
in  the  Renaissance  which  further  liberated  philosophy  and  science. 


^Glanvill,  Joseph,  Philosoohia  Pia,  London  (1671) . pp.  35,  33. 


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the  idea  of  progress  in  knowledge  heoame  quite  general.  The  thought 
of  Bacon’s  aphorism,  Antiouitas  saeculi  .iuventus  mundi . so  often 
quoted  in  the  seventeenth  century,  had  occurred  also  to  Gilbert, 
to  Galileo,  to  Giordano  Bruno,  and  to  Gampanella.^  To  safeguard 
religion,  in  which  of  course  no  progress  could  be  admitted,  it 
became  customary  to  contrast  Divinity  with  other  studies.  In  the 
sixteenth  century,  the  Huguenot  De  Mornay  admitted  this  distinction. 
"Car  les  doctrines  humaines,"  he  said,  "plus  le  mond  s’auance,  & 
plus  s 'esclaircissent . Celle  cy  (la  Divinite)  au  contraire,  plus 
elle  s'esloigne  de  ces  premiers  siecles,  plus  elle  se  trouue 
obscurcie,  <3c  n’est  en  aucune  part  plus  claire  que  pres  de  la  source, 
iusques  a ce  que  par  la  naissance  du  vray  Soleil  elle  a receu  plus 
grande  clarte  que  iamais."^  In  his  Newes  to  the  Universitie 
(1614),  Thomas  Overbury  informs  the  learned  that  "the  newest 
nhilosonhie  is  soundest,  the  eldest  Divinltie . Francis  Osborn, 
in  his  Advice  to  a Son  (1656),  declares  that  "though  my  single 
•Judgment  is  still  ready  to  determine  for  Antiquity:  which  I would 
have  you  reverence,  but  not  conclude  infallible;  yet  I should  take 
her  word  sooner  in  Divinity  than  any  other  Learning,  because  that 
is  clearest  at  the  beginning,  all  Studies  else  more  muddy,  receiving 
clarification  from  experience."^  This  well-established  distinction 
became  all  the  more  serviceable  and  pronounced  with  the  acceptance 
of  the  new  science. 

J^Bacon,  Works,  ed.  cit.  . II,  136,  n.2. 

^^De  Mornav,  De  la  Verite  de  la  Religion  Chre stienne . Leyden  (1651). 
p.  88. 

^Overbury,  Works,  ed.  Rimbault.  London  (1890).  p.  179. 

Osborne,  Works.  8th  ed.  London  (1683).  p.  98. 


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”In  Theology. " said  Glanvill,  ”I  put  as  great 
a difference  between  our  New  Lights  and  the  Antient 
Truths,  as  between  the  Sun,  and  an  unconcocted 
evanid  Meteor.  Though  I confess  that  in  Philosophy 
I'm  a Seeker:  yet  cannot  believe,  that  a Sceptick 
in  Philosophy  must  be  one  in  Divinity.  Gospel-light 
began  in  its  Zenith;  and,  as  some  say  the  Sun,  was 
created  in  its  Meridian  strength  and  lustre.  But 
the  beginnings  of  Philosophy  were  in  a Crepusculous 
obscurity;  and  It's  yet  scarce  past  the  Dawn."^ 

But  such  a distinction  was  hardly  philosophical;  the 
spheres  of  science  and  religion  might  coincide  and  contradictions 
might  arise  which  would  necessitate  a choice  between  them. 
Materialism  was  in  fact  the  extension  of  science  into  a complete 
philosophy  of  life,  a substitute  for  religion.  And  therefore 
nothing  less  than  a critique  of  science  on  its  own  ground  could 
prevent  it  from  completely  excluding  religion  from  life.  This 
critique,  however,  was  not  accomplished  by  theologians,  but  by  the 
apologists  for  science,  who,  to  defend  science  against  the  charge 
of  atheism,  had  to  rescue  it  from  the  philosophical  ambitions  of 
Hobbes  and  his  followers.  Of  these  apologists  the  most  eminent  was 
Joseph  Glanvill. 

Glanvill' s most  important  book  is  summarized  in  its 
title.  The  Vanity  of  Dogmatizing  or  Confidence  in  Opinions  mani- 
fested in  a Discourse  of  the  Shortness  and  Uncertainty  of  our 
Knowledge  and  its  causes,  etc.  (1661),  republished  as  Scepsis 
Soientif ica.  or  Confest  Ignorance  the  wav  of  Science  (1665) . 
Glanvill  dedicated  the  latter  volume  to  the  Royal  Society,  which 
immediately  elected  him  a fellow.  He  everywhere  speaks  with 
admiration  of  the  achievements  of  science,  but  constantly  censures 

^Glanvill,  Scepsis  Scient if ica.  London  (1665).  pp.  139-40. 


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also  the  presuniption  of  the  ”Mechanick  Philosophers”  who  too 

hastily  pass  from  hypothesis  to  dogmatism.  In  this  criticism  of 

science  Glanvill  was  a true  disciple  of  the  sceptical  philosophy, 

in  which  he  was  thoroughly  at  home.  That  he  knew  and  used  the 

Hvnotvposes  of  Sextus  Empiricus  has  been  noticed  by  his  biographer, 

Mr.  Greenslet.^  It  is  worth  adding  that  he  knew,  and  cited  as 

authorities  on  scepticism  and  open-mindedness  in  science,  both 

2 

Montaigne  and  Charron.  Glanvill  was  therefore,  like  the  scientists 
of  his  time,  keenly  aware  of  the  limitations  of  scientific  knowledge. 
The  nature  of  the  soul,  the  nature  of  bodies,  the  union  of  the  soul 
with  the  body,  — all  such  ultimate  knowledge  he  admitted  was 
beyond  the  possibility  of  science  finding  out.  Even  causality,  he 
said,  since  it  is  insensible,  cannot  be  directly  known;  it  must 
remain  a mystery.  We  can  conclude  causality  only  from  concomitancy, 
but  ”to  argue  from  concomitancy  to  causality,  is  not  infallibly  con- 
clusive; Yea  in  this  way  lies  notorious  delusion.”*^  But  the  most 
dangerous  error  of  all  is  the  tendency  to  assume  that  those  working 
principles  which  science  must  constantly  be  formulating,  are  an 
ultimate  and  true  knowledge  of  the  processes  of  nature.  Glanvill 
called  them  hypotheses.  For  such  caution  he  found  a precedent  in 
the  admired  Descartes: 

’’Though  the  Grand  Secretary  of  Nature,  the 
miraculous  Des-Cartes  hath  here  infinitely  out-done 
all  the  Philosophers  (who)  went  before  him,  in 
giving  a particular  and  Analytical  account  of  the 


^Greenslet,  Ferris,  Joseph  Glanvill,  N.Y.  (1900).  pp.  95-ff. 
^Scepsis  Scientifica.  London  (1665).  pp.  114,  172. 

^Ibid.  p.  142. 


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Universal  Fabrick:  yet  he  intends  his  Principles 

but  for  Hypotheses,  and  never  pretends  that  things 
are  really  or  necessarily,  as  he  hath  supposed 
them:  but  that  they  may  be  admitted  pertinently 
to  solve  the  Phaenomena,  and  are  convenient 
supposals  for  the  u^  of  life.  Nor  can  any 
further  account  be  expected  from  humanity,  but 
how  things  may  have  been  made  consonantly  to 
sensible  nature:  but  infallibly  to  determine 

how  they  truly  were  effected,  is  proper  to  him 
only  that  saw  them  in  Chaos,  and  fashion'd 
them  out  of  that  confused  mass.  For  to  say, 
the  nrinciules  of  Nature  must  needs  be  such 
as  our  Philosophy  makes  them,  is  to  set  bounds 
to  Omnipotence,  and  to  confine  infinite  power 
and  wisdom  to  our  shallow  mode  Is . ” 


By  such  thorough-going  critique  Glanvill  sought  to  counteract  the 
high  pretension  of  materialistic  science  to  an  absolute  dominion 
over  all  life.  The  methods  of  science  were  at  best  uncertain,  and 
applicable  only  to  a small  section  of  the  universe;  beyond  science 
there  was  the  vast  infinity  of  the  unknowable,  where  the  reason 
could  only  wander  astray,  and  faith  and  revelation  alone  could  guide 
men  up  to  God. 

In  this  scepticism  regarding  the  philosophical  value  of 
scientific  hypothesis,  Glanvill  was  not  alone;  he  was  in  fact 
representative  of  the  orthodox  and  conservative  thought  of  his  time, 
wherever  it  was  combatting  "Hobbisra."  The  Royal  Society  indicated 
their  approval  by  electing  Glanvill  to  membership.  One  of  its  most 
distinguished  members,  Boyle,  the  founder  of  modern  chemistry, was 
especially  active  in  opposition  to  the  materialistic  philosophy.  In 
one  of  his  many  philosophical  tracts,  A Free  Inquiry,  into  the  Vulgar 
Notion  of  Nature . written  in  1666  but  not  published  until  1682,  he 
attempted  to  show  what  dangers  lurked  in  the  popular  use  of  the  word 


^Ibid.  pp.  155-6.  


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235 


«nature";  it  always  tended  to  signify  something  more  than  processes, 
the  mythologizing  imagination  was  always  making  of  it  an  explanation 
of  the  world;  whereas  the  scientist,  strictly  limiting  himself  to 
demonstrable  facts,  was  forced  to  conclude  that  the  only  possible 
explanation  of  the  visible  world  is  in  God.^  So  general  was  this 
sceptical  attitude  towards  scientific  hypotheses  that  even  under- 
graduates at  Cambridge  were  nursed  in  it.  In  1688  Matthew  Prior, 
then  at  St.  John's  College,  wrote  a gpindiose  ode  On  Exod.  Ill,  14  — 
I_  ^ That  I_  a^,  the  theme  of  which  is  the  inadequacy  of  reason  to 
understand  the  world  and  the  necessity  of  exercising  faith  and 
reverence  to  reach  the  high  abode  of  the  mysterious  God  who  revealed 
himself  to  Moses.  A stanza  will  show  how  definitely  Prior  applied 
his  critique  to  materialistic  science: 


"Man  does  with  dangerous  curiosity 
These  unfathora'd  wonders  try: 

With  fancied  rules  and  arbitrary  laws 
Matter  and  motion  he  restrsAns; 

And  studied  lines  and  fictions  circles  draws: 

Then  with  imagin'd  sovereignty 
Lord  of  his  new  hypothesis  he  reigns. 

He  reigns:  how  long?  till  some  usurper  rise; 

And  he  too,  mighty  thoughtful,  mighty  wise. 

Studies  new  lines,  and  other  circles  feigns. 

From  this  last  toil  again  what  knowledge  flows? 

Just  as  much,  perhaps,  as  shows. 

That  all  his  predecessor's  rules 
Were  empty  cant,  all  jargon  of  the  schools; 

That  he  on  t’ other's  ruin  rears  his  throne; 

And  shows  his  friend's  mistake,  and  thence  confirms  his 

ov/n."2 


Boyle,  Robert,  Philosonhical  Works . London  (1725) . II,  108-149.  — 
Cf.  a sympathetic  study  of  Boyle  by  Nourrisson,  Philosophies  d^  ^ 
Nature.  Paris  (1887) . pp.  43-84. 

^Prior , Poetical  Works,  ed.  Johnson,  R.B.,  London  (1907).  I,  23-27. 
Cf,  Prior's  sceptical  attitude  in  maturer  poems:  Alma,  or  the 
Progress  of  the  Mind,  and  Solomon  on  the  Vanity  of  the  World, 

Book  I,  On  Knowledge . 


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236 

Nor  should  we  be  surprised  to  find  in  John  Dryden,  a man  unusually 
sensitive  to  the  veering:  of  the  winds  of  doctrine  of  his  time, 
essentially  the  same  ideas  as  Glanvill's  on  the  relation  of 
science  and  religion.  He  admired  the  practical  achievements  of 
English  science  and  was  ready  to  give  the  Royal  Society  unstinted 
praise.^  But,  though  he  knew  well  the  work  of  Hobbes,  he  was 
certainly  not  a disciple;  the  dogmatic  temper  of  Hobbes  he  referred 
to  as  "magisterial  authority"  and  he  even  suspected  the  sage  of 
Malmesbury  of  insincerity.^  Nor  could  a man  so  convinced  as  Dryden 
of  the  limitations  of  h\man  reason,  well  be  content  with  a 
materialistic  philosophy  of  science.  Both  of  his  poems  on  religion, 
though  one  defended  Catholicism  and  the  other  Anglicanism,  agree  in 
this  distrust  of  the  reason. 

"Dim  as  the  borrowed  beams  of  moon  and  stars 
To  lonely,  weary,  wandering  travellers 
Is  Reason  to  the  soul," 

this  was  the  text  of  Religio  Laici . And  in  The  Hind  and  the  Panther 
he  echoes: 


"Let  Reason  then  at  her  own  quarry  fly, 

But  how  can  finite  grasp  infinity?  . . . 

Rest  then,  my  soul,  from  endless  anguish  freed: 

Nor  sciences' thy  guide,  nor  sense  thy  creed. 

Faith  is  the  best  insurer  of  thy  bliss  ..." 

This  reconciliation  of  science  and  religion  by  assigning 
limits  to  the  former,  was  of  course  far  from  final,  and  the 
criticism  of  the  human  reason  has  since  reached  far  greater  pro- 

^Epistle  To.  D^  Char  let  on.  and  Annus  Mirabilis.  stanzas  155-166. 

^Dryden,  Essays,  ed.  W.P.Ker,  Oxford  (1900) . I,  259.  Cf.  I,  153 
and  II,  248,  252. 

^The  Hind  and  the  Panther . Part  i,  n.  104-5,  146-8. 


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237 


fundity.  But  we  have  seen  hoy?  rapidly  the  problem  in  its  modern 
form  was  evolved  from  the  spiritual  cosmology  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  and  how  religion,  which  in  the  older  philosophy,  as  in 
Sir  John  Davies,  had  sought  its  support  in  a demonstrative  ration- 
alism, allied  itself  in  the  seventeenth  century  with  scepticism.  If, 
as  Donne  said,  all  Divinity  is  Love  and  Wonder,  the  scepticism  of 
the  English  scientists  stimulated  at  least  the  sentiment  of  wonder, 
a sentiment  neglected  by  the  dry  materialism  of  the  school  of 
Hobbes.  The  imaginative  Glanvill  conveyed  in  rhythms  that  recall 
Bro'wne,  a sense  of  the  mystery  of  the  world  both  in  its  vastness  and 
its  infinite  minuteness,  and  of  the  miracle  of  man  among  all  these 
unexplainable  wonders: 


"Whatever  I look  upon  within  the  amplitude 
of  heaven  and  earth,  is  evidence  of  humane  ignorance; 
For  all  things  are  a great  darkness  to  us,  and  we  are 
so  unto  our  selves:  The  plainest  things  are  as 

obscure,  as  the  most  confessedly  mysterious;  and 
the  Plants  we  tread  on,  are  as  much  above  us,  as 
the  Stars  and  Heavens.  The  things  that  touch  us 
are  as  distant  from  us,  as  the  Pole;  and  we  are 
as  much  strangers  to  our  selves,  as  to  the  inhab- 
itants of  America."^ 


Had  Glanvill  been  of  a religious  nature,  his  scientific  wonder 
might  have  led  him  to  a sense  of  the  mystery  of  faith.  But  he 
and  his  fellow  apologists  for  science  fell  upon  an  age  prosaic 
in  religion.  The  poetry  of  Glanvill  is  confined  to  his  scientific 
writings;  in  religion  he  shared  the  temper  and  the  doctrines  of  the 
Deists.  Perhaps  the  deepest,  certainly  the  most  frequent,  religious 


^Addre ss  to  the  Royal  Society,  in  Scepsis  Scientif ica.  Ed.cit. 
^He  gives  a Deistic  statement  of  the  essentials  of  religion  in 
The  Friendly  Agreement  between  Reason  and  Re  1 i gi on , published  with 
Philosophia  Pia,  ed.  cit.  pp.  156-7. 


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238 


sentiment  in  the  writings  of  the  scientists  is  their  admiration  of 
God  as  the  artificer  of  a marvellous  universe.  Their  scepticism 
made  a place  for  religion,  but  they  were  too  rationalistic  in 
temper  to  need  more  than  the  mildness  of  Deism.  No  Pascal  appeared 
among  them.  And  yet,  so  fundamental  and  modern  was  their  thought, 
that  the  scepsis  scientifica  survived  the  Age  of  Reason  and  has 
become  an  important  conception  even  in  the  discussions  of  the 
present  century.^ 


See  for  instance.  More,  P.Ej,,  Huxley,  in  The  Drift  Roman t ic i sm_, 
Boston  (1913);  and  Boutroux,  Emile,  La  Religion  e^  les.  Limites  ^ 
la  Science , in  Science  et  Religion,  Paris  (1908) . 


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I 


CHAPTER  SIX 


DIFFUSION  OF  SCEPTICAL  THOUGHT  IN  THE  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY 

I.  Critical  Temper  of  the  Seventeenth  Century.-  II.  Sceptical 
Tendency  in  the  Thought  of  the  Liberal  Churchmen.-  III.  Sir 
Thomas  Browne:  Scepticism  and  Religious  Wonder.-  IV.  Francis 
Osborn:  Scepticism  and  the  New  Courtier  Type. 

In  the  preceding  chapters  vje  have  already  traced  some  of 
the  effects  of  Renaissance  scepticism  on  the  thought  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  especially  in  connection  with  naturalism  in  ethics 
and  the  philosophical  crisis  precipitated  by  the  new  science.  In 
those  studies  we  have  seen  how  the  sceptical  tendencies  of  the 
sixteenth  century  contributed  to  the  more  modern  thought  of  the 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth.  But  after  establishing  this  continuity 
of  certain  phases,  one  is  led  further  to  inquire  what  iiriportance 
scepticism  had  in  the  whole  of  seventeenth  century  thought,  and 
whether  it  was  cultivated  only  by  a small  group  of  intellectual 
rebels  and  social  pariahs,  or  whether  it  permeated  the  educated 
class.  In  the  present  chapter  some  representative  and  widely 
popular  writers  will  be  studied  together,  with  a view  to  estimating 
the  diffusion  of  the  sceptical  tendency  of  the  age  in  various 
intellectual  and  social  groups.  It  may  appear  at  first  paradoxical 
to  discuss  together  men  of  such  diverse  minds  and  temperaments  as 
Baxter  and  Osborn,  Falkland  and  Bro-wne,  Hales  and  Milton.  But  by 
such  a consideration  of  one  phase  of  writers  not  otherwise  associ- 
ated together  by  students  of  English  literature,  we  may  be  able  to 


"’•:;  '"T  T::-«5:r  :i'^IT<?3r 


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240 


arrive  at  a more  thorough  appreciation  of  the  importance  of  the 
sceptical  impulse  in  the  seventeenth  century. 

I 

The  Critical  Temper  of  the  Seventeenth  Century 

Almost  immediately  the  English  spirit  of  the  seventeenth 
century  manifested  itself  as  a reaction  against  the  exuberance  of 
the  Renaissance.  Fundamentally  this  reaction  was  undoubtedly  due 
to  the  exhaustion  of  energies  in  the  expansiveness  of  the  preceding 
period,  but  it  expressed  itself  in  a multiplicity  of  ways  determined 
often  by  accident.  It  is  everywhere  evident  in  the  political  con- 
flicts which  dominated  the  age.  Instead  of  the  generous  enthusiasm 
and  national  unity  of  the  days  of  the  great  Queen,  the  division  into 
parties  now  produced  a genera.!  irritability;  and  quite  by  accident 
England  at  the  same  time  had  a king  who  of  all  her  monarchs  irritated 
the  nation  most  and  was  least  concerned  about  conciliating  popular 
opinion.  The  pretension  of  James  I to  absolute  monarchy  and  his 
high-handed  treatment  of  Parliament,  a policy  which  his  son  inherited 
from  him,  cost  the  country  the  distress  of  civil  war  and  Charles  I 
his  head.  But  before  this  crisis,  in  fact  immediately  upon  his 
accession,  James  drew  upon  himself  criticism  for  a multitude  of  more 
or  less  serious  errors,  all  of  which  alienated  the  country  from  the 
crown  and  made  patriotic  Englishmen  sigh  for  the  palmy  days  of 
Elizabeth. 

James  humiliated  the  English  by  surrounding  himself  with 
Scotch  courtiers.  This  was  of  course  in  itself  injudicious,  but  it 


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31, 


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■ - ‘--  ' 3 


241 


became  dangerous  in  a monarch  ruled,  as  James  V7as,  by  favorites  who 
pandered  skilfully  to  the  king’s  weaknesses.  Lord  Howard  advised 
Sir  John  Harrington  on  how  to  succeed  at  the  new  court:  he  must 

dress  to  the  king's  taste,  for  many  gallants  have  "failed  in  their 
suits  for  want  of  due  observance  of  these  matters."  Nothing,  of 
course,  can  be  done  except  through  the  favorites.  "Robert  Carr  is 
now  most  likely  to  win  the  prince’s  affection,  and  doth  it  wonder- 
ously  in  a little  time."  Success  depended  then  on  such  secrets  as 
this:  "Do  not  of  yourself  say,  'This  is  good,  or  bad';  but,  'If  it 

were  your  majesty’s  good  opinion,  I myself  should  think  so  and  so.’" 
The  lord  was  unable  to  repress  a scornful  plaint:  "You  have  lived 

to  see  the  trim  of  old  times,  and  what  passed  in  the  queen's  days. 
These  things  are  no  more  the  same." 

Morals  and  conduct  at  the  court  of  the  new  monarch  were 
inconceivably  vulgar  and  unrestrained.  Sir  John  Harrington,  who 
in  the  good  days  of  yore  had  been  disciplined  by  the  Queen  herself 
for  circulating  among  her  maids  a translation  of  an  obnoxious  canto 
from  Ariosto,  was  shocked  and  grieved  by  the  degradation  he  saw.  A 
witty  letter  of  his,  describing  the  revels  in  1606  in  honor  of  the 
King  of  Denmark,  conveys  the  tone  of  the  court: 

"The  sports  began  each  day,"  he  says,  "in  such  manner  and 
such  sort  as  had  well-nigh  persuaded  me  of  Mahomet’s  paradise  . . . 

I think  the  Dane  hath  strangely  wrought  on  our  good  English  nobles; 
for  those  whom  I never  could  get  to  taste  liquor,  now  follow  the 
fashion  and  wallow  in  beastly  delights.  The  ladies  abandon  their 
sobriety,  and  are  seen  to  roll  about  in  intoxication."  At  a great 

^Aikin.  Lucv.  Memoirs  of  the  Court  of  King  James  the  First,  London 
(1822).  I,  326-330. 


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feast  several  ladies  were  to  come  into  the  presence  of  the  royal 
guest,  representing  such  Christian  and  Royal  attributes  as  Faith, 
Hope,  Charity,  Victory  and  Peace.  But,  though  "the  entertainment 
and  show  went  forward,"  says  Harrington,  "most  of  the  presenters 
went  backward,  or  fell  down;  wine  did  so  occupy  their  upper 
chambers. " 

"Now  did  appear  in  rich  dress.  Faith,  Hope  and 
Charity:  Hope  did  essay  to  speak,  but  wine  rendered 
her  endeavours  so  feeble  that  she  withdrew, and  hoped 
the  king  would  excuse  her  brevity:  Faith  was  then 

alone,  for  I am  certain  she  was  not  joined  with  good 
works,  and  left  the  court  in  a staggering  condition: 
Charity  came  to  the  king’s  feet,  and  seemed  to  cover 
the  multitude  of  sins  her  sisters  had  committed;  in 
some  sort  she  made  obeisance  and  brought  gifts,  but 
said  she  would  return  home  again,  as  there  was  no 
gift  which  heaven  had  not  already  given  his  majesty. 

She  then  returned  to  Faith  and  Hope,  who  were  both 
sick  . . . in  the  lower  hall.  Next  came  Victory  in 
bright  armour,  and  by  a strange  medley  of  versifica- 
tion did  endeavour  to  make  suit  to  the  king.  But  • 
Victory  did  not  triumph  long;  for,  after  a much 
lamentable  utterance,  she  was  led  away  like  a silly 
captive,  and  laid  to  sleep  in  the  outer  steps  of  the 
antichamber.  Now  Peace  did  make  entry,  and  strive 
to  get  foremost  to  the  king;  but  I grieve  to  tell 
how  great  wrath  she  did  discover  unto  those  of  her 
attendants;  and  much  contrary  to  her  semblance, most 
rudely  made  war  with  her  olive  branch,  and  laid  on 
the  pates  of  those  who  did  oppose  her  coming. 

"I  have  much  marvelled  at  these  strange 
pageantries,"  continues  Harrington,  "and  they  do 
bring  to  my  remembrance  what  passed  of  this  sort 
in  our  queen's  days;  of  which  I was  sometimes  an 
humble  presenter  and  assistant:  but  I did  ne'er 
see  such  lack  of  good  order,  discretion  and  sobriety, 
as  I have  now  done . " 1 


At  such  a court  it  is  to  be  expected  that  the  course  of  events  will 
be  determined  by  low  intrigue.  The  murder  of  Overbury,  the  execu- 
tion of  Raleigh,  the  ascendency  of  the  Catholic  faction  in  the 


^Nufsrae  Antiquae . I,  348.  Quoted  by  Aikin,  op.  cit.  I,  278-381. 


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243 


foreign  policy,  and  the  ignominious  attempt  to  form  an  alliance 
hetvveen  Prince  Charles  and  the  Infanta  of  Spain,  are  only  a few  of 
the  incidents  which  more  and  more  alienj^^ted  king  and  country,  and 
are  sufficient  to  remind  us  how  completely  James  was  out  of  touch 
with  his  people. 

After  the  high  national  spirit  which  had  united  all 
factions  in  the  time  of  Elizabeth,  there  succeeded  a period  of 
dejection  and  disillusionment.  The  glories  of  England  were  visibly 
in  decline.  In  a passage  in  the  second  book  of  Britannia*  s 
Pastorals  (1616),  Bro^e  indignantly  describes  the  decay  in  Plymouth 
harbor  of  that  great  English  fleet, 

"whose  hot  alarms 

Have  made  Iberia  tremble,  and  her  towers 
Prostrate  themselves  before  our  iron  showers; 

While  their  proud  builders'  hearts  have  been  inclin'd 
To  shake,  as  our  brave  ensigns,  with  the  wind  .... 

But  now  our  leaders  want;  those  vessels  lie 
Rotting,  like  houses  through  ill  husbandry; 

And  on  their  masts,  where  oft  the  ship-boy  stood. 

Or  silver  trumpets  charm'd  the  brackish  flood. 

Some  wearied  crow  is  set;  and  daily  seen 

Their  sides  instead  of  pitch  caulk'd  o'er  with  green. 


Not  only  was  the  navy  neglected,  but  the  army  was  decayed  and  dis- 
banded and  the  former  soldiers  wandered  over  England  as  paupers. 


"Can  I behold  a man  that  in  the  field 
Or  at  a breach  hath  taken  on  his  shield 
More  darts  than  ever  Roman;  that  hath  spent 
Many  a cold  December  in  no  tent 

But  such  as  earth  and  heaven  make;  that  hath  been 
Except  in  iron  plates  not  long  time  seen; 

Upon  whose  body  may  be  plainly  told 

More  wounds  than  his  lank  purse  doth  almsdeeds  hold; 
01  can  I see  this  man,  advent 'ring  all. 

Be  only  grac'd  with  some  poor  hospital, 


^Bro'wne,  William,  Britannia' s Pastorals,  Book  2,  Song  4,  11.  51-96. 
ed.  Goodwin,  I,  313-315. 


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244 


Or  may  be  worse,  entreating  at  his  door 
For  some  relief  whom  he  secur’d  before. 

And  yet  not  show  my  grief?  First  may  I learn 
To  see,  and  yet  forget  how  to  discern; 

My  hands  neglectful  be  at  any  need, 

Or  to  defend  my  body,  or  to  feed. 

Ere  I respect  those  times  that  rather  give  him 
Hundreds  to  punish  than  one  to  relieve  him.”T 


In  departing  from  his  pastoral  style  to  write  these  stinging 
arraignments  of  his  time,  Browne  voiced  the  indignation  of  the  great 
mass  of  Englishmen  who  felt  deeply  the  disappointment  of  England’s 
splendid  promise  in  the  time  of  Sidney,  Spenser,  Drake  and  the  great 
Queen. 

Perhaps  no  one  felt  more  keenly  the  change  which  had  come 
over  England  than  Fulke  Greville,  who  survived  for  so  many  years  his 
youthfyl  friend  Sidney.  He  who  had  felt  the  pulse  of  the  greater 
age,  was  disconsolate  amid  the  ignobility  which  ensued.  ”He  doubt- 
less felt,”  says  a recent  student  of  him,^  that  his  opinions  were 
those  of  the  age  of  Elizabeth,  and  he  certainly  believed  them  to  be 
in  contrast  with  those  of  the  age  of  James  and  Charles.”  He  felt 
baffled  in  trying  to  bring  into  active  life  that  spirit  of  idealism 
on  which  he  had  been  nourished  in  his  youth,  and  withdrew  to  live 
over  again  in  contemplation,  the  age  which  he  had  found  more  con- 
genial. 


^Bro'wne,  ed.  cit.  I,  315-6. — Lucy  Hutchinson  prises  her  father, 
who  held  important  positions  under  James,  such  as  Victualler  of  the 
Navy  and  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower,  for  his  liberality  and  kindness, 
and  she  says,  ’’when,  through  the  ingratitude  and  vice  of  that  age, 
many  of  the  wives  and  children  of  Queen  Elizabeth’s  glorious 
captains  were  reduced  to  poverty,  his  purse  was  their  common 
treasurVr”  Memoirs  of  the  Life  of  Colons  1 Hutchinson,  London  (1848). 
p.  13. 

^Croll,  Morris  W. , The  Works  of  Fulke  Greville . Philadelphia  (1903) . 
p.  58. 


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345 


"The  difference  which  I have  found  between  times," 
so  he  began  his  Life  of  Sidney.  "and  consequently 
the  changes  of  life  into  which  their  naturall 
vicissitudes  doe  violently  carry  men,  as  they 
have  made  deep  furrowes  of  impressions  into  my 
heart,  so  the  same  heavy  wheeles  caused  me  to 
retire  my  thoughts  from  free  traffique  with  the 
world,  and  rather  seek  comfortable  ease  or  employ- 
ment in  the  safe  memory  of  dead  men,  than  disquiet 
in  a doubtfull  conversation  amongst  the  living."^ 


And  in  hie  sombre  conclusion  to  the  same  work  he  declares  that  he 
had  written  his  plays  only  for  those  on  whose  foot  the  Black  Oxe  of 
Care  had  already  trod,  "to  those  only,"  he  continues,  "that  are 
weather-beaten  in  the  sea  of  this  World,  such  as  having  lost  the 
sight  of  their  gardens  and  groves,  study  to  saile  on  a right  course 

Q 

among  rocks  and  quick-sands." 

It  is  of  course  easily  possible  to  exaggerate  the  impor- 
tance of  the  Stuarts  in  the  intellectual  history  of  the  seventeenth 
century;  their  influence  was  provocative  more  than  creative  or  even 
directive.  After  every  era  of  expansion  comes  an  era  of  concentra- 
tion, an  era  primarily  of  criticism  and  painful  readjustment;  the 
seventeenth  century  was  such  an  age  of  concentration.  But  James 
gave  form  and  focus  to  the  current  tendencies  which  were  beyond  his 
comprehension  and  control.  He  may  be  said  to  have  dominated  his 
age,  in  a perverse  sense,  by  provoking  dissension,  just  as  truly 
as  Elizabeth  dominated  hers  by  promoting  national  unity  and  good 
feeling.  It  was  his  arrogant  and  dogmatic  assumption  of  the  divine 
right  of  kings,  his  complete  lack  of  political  sagacity,  which 
precipitated  the  struggle  for  political  and  religious  liberty,  and 

^Greville,  Fulke,  Works,  ed.  Grosart,  London  (1870).  IV,  5. 

^Ibid.  p.  223. 


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246 


thus  defined  the  course  of  events  even  under  his  successor.  For 
Charles,  though  the  moral  tone  of  his  court  was  vastly  better  than 
that  of  his  father's,  pursued  the  policy  of  J.ames  in  church  and 
state,  the  policy  of  Buckingham  and  Laud.  In  both  spheres  the 
Stuart  policy  was  coercive  and  tyrannical  and  provoked  a powerful 
resistance,  manifested  not  only  in  Parliament  and  the  Parliamentary 
army,  but  in  political  thought  and  in  the  development  of  new 
theories  of  religious  liberty  and  tolerance.  Such  men  as  Falkland, 
Hales,  Chillingworth  and  Taylor,  driven  to  investigate  the  preten- 
sions to  infallibility  on  the  part  of  church  or  individual,  were 
led  thereby  to  a more  searching  and  somewhat  sceptical  examination 
of  the  human  reason.  The  political  crisis  in  church  and  state 
forced  them  to  consider  the  problem  of  knowledge,  the  great 
philosophical  preoccupation  of  the  century,  both  in  England  and 
France.  Even  in  scholarship,  which  in  the  sixteenth  century  had 
been  largely  cumulative  and  assidmilat ive , the  new  critical  spirit  is 
evident  and  does  not  shrink  from  an  independent  examination  of 
political  and  ecclesiastical  pretensions.  Selden's  History  of 
Tithes  (1618),  written  in  the  moderate  spirit  of  a seeker  only  after 
truth,  nevertheless  disclosed  the  spuriousness  of  the  claim  of  the 
church  to  a divine  right  to  impose  taxes.  Selden  was  forced  to 
retract  this  book;  but  that  he  retained  the  independence  of  thought 
of  the  critical  scholar,  is  apparent  everywhere  in  his  Table -Talk . 
"The  clergy,"  he  says,  "would  have  us  believe  them  against  our  own 
Reason,  as  the  Wom.an  would  have  had  her  Husband  against  his  own 
Eyes:  What!  will  you  believe  your  own  Eyes  before  your  O’wn  sweet 

Wife?"^  All  pretension  to  infallibility  or  divine  right  of  king  or 

^Selden,  Table-Talk,  ed.  Gollanz  (Temple  Classics),  p.  29. 


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247 


bishop  was  swept  away  by  his  great  learning  and  sound  sense.  "A  King 
is  a thing  Men  have  made  for  their  awn  Sakes,  for  quietness'  sake," 
he  declared,  "just  as  in  a Family  one  Man  is  appointed  to  buy  the 
Meat."^  And  Selden  knew,  what  many  Englishmen  learned  in  the  turbu- 
lence of  the  first  half  of  the  seventeenth  century,  that  truth  was 
not  to  be  reached  by  party  affiliation,  and  that  quiet  and  peace  were 
necessary  before  the  critical  spirit  could  dissolve  the  fierce  fanat- 
icism and  dogmatism  which  blinded  the  contending  factions.  "In 
troubled  Water  you  can  scarce  see  your  Face,  or  see  it  very  little, 
till  the  Water  be  quiet  and  stand  still.  So  in  troubled  times  you 
can  see  little  Truth;  when  times  are  quiet  and  settled,  then  Truth 
appears."^ 

Falkland  and  the  liberal  churchmen  already  mentioned, 
Selden' s contemporaries,  withdrew  from  the  turmoil  in  order  to  find 
truth  in  the  quiet  of  their  libraries.  But  they  all  became  more  and 
more  impressed  by  the  great  likelihood  of  error  in  human  thought. 

They  learned,  among  other  things,  an  intellectual  humility  which, 
though  they  were  themselves  perhaps  unaware  of  the  fact^ was  tinged 
with  philosophical  scepticism.  They  prepared  the  way  for  the 
modern  theory  of  toleration,  for  Locke's  Letter  on  Toleration  and 
for  the  Toleration  Act  of  1689. 

II 


Sceptical  Tendency  in  the  Thought  of  the  Liberal  Churchmen 

No  sooner  had  the  individualistic  spirit  of  the 
Reformation  clearly  manifested  itself  in  the  continual  secession  of 


^Ibid.  p.  64. 


p.  145 . 


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248 


sects,  in  the  audacious  rejection  of  \what  had  been  regarded  as 
essential  doctrine,  than  the  leaders  began  to  check  it.  Calvin 
maintained  strict  discipline  in  Geneva,  denouncing  the  freer  sect 
called  the  Libertines,  and  even  burning  Servetus  in  1553  for  anti- 
Trinitarian  teachings.  Luther  allied  himself  with  German  princes, 
and  Lutheranism  became  a state  religion.  In  the  England  of 

I 

Elizabeth  three  religious  factions,  the  Catholics,  the  Anglicans 
and  the  Puritans,  were  all  ambitious  of  supremacy.  Protestantism, 
which  had  destroyed  the  Medieval  unity  of  the  European  church,  in 
its  turn  sought  to  enforce  by  political  power  a uniformity  of 
creed  and  ceremonial  within  its  own  territorial  limits.  It  ridiculed 
the  pretended  infallibility  of  the  Pope,  and  then  acted  on  the 
assumption  of  its  own  infallibility.  The  earliest  Protestant  leaders 
were  as  zealous  as  Catholics  for  unity  and  uniformity,  each  believing 
that  his  o’wn  sect  alone  held  the  one  verifiable  and  unpolluted  truth. 

But  Protestantism  nevertheless  had  something  more  than 
fanatical  zeal;  it  7/as  anim.ated  by  a spirit  of  liberty  which,  checke 
as  it  was  by  the  political  control  of  opinion  by  state  churches, 
could  never  be  suppressed.  Arians,  Anabaptists,  Brownists,  Familist 
these  sects  of  the  sixteenth  century  were  only  the  beginning.  In  the 
seventeenth  century  the  spirit  of  independence  produced  numerous 
others:  Antinomians,  Millenaries  or  Ghiliasts,  Seekers,  Anti- 
Sabbatarians,  Traskites,  Soul-Sleepers  or  Moralists,  Divorcers,  Anti 
Scripturists,  Socinians,  even  some  called  Sceptics  or  Questionists. 

^Masson,  David,  Life  of  Milton,  London  (1873) . Ill,  136-ff . 

Numerous  pamphlets  were  directed  against  these  sects.  Thomas 
Edwards,  in  a treatise  entitled  Gangraenai  or , a Catalogue  and  Dis- 
covery of  many  of  the  Errors . Heresie.s.  Blasphemies,  and  Pernicious 
Practices  of  the  Sectaries  of  this  time  ( 1645) , made  a list  of  176 


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-•VI  .1.1  3C^S  . 


249 

This  multiplication  of  sects  was  inevitable  in  such  a 
secessionist  movement  as  Protestantism.  And  though  its  leaders  had 
at  first  been  blind  to  this  fact,  English  churchmen  of  the  seven- 
teenth century  began  to  see  more  and  more  clearly  that  the  attempt 
to  enforce  uniformity  was  not  only  futile,  but  wrong.  They  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  only  by  hazarding  wide  diversity  of  opinion, 
only  by  seeking  by  many  paths,  even  though  most  must  be  erroneous, 
could  truth  ever  be  found.  They  therefore  placed  themselves 
philosophically  at  the  opposite  pole  from  Medievalism,  with  its 
insistence  on  uniformity  and  unity  not  only  within  nations  but 
throughout  the  world.  Bossuet  defined  a heretic  as  a man  who  had 

formed  an  opinion;  there  spoke  the  Medievalist,  the  Catholic,  who 

/ 

wrote  his  Hist oire  des  Variations  des  Eglises  Protes tantes  to  show 
the  absurdity  and  self-destructiveness  of  the  Protestant  spirit.  But 


his  views  had  already  been  answered  by  an  English  champion  of  liberty. 
"Where  there  is  much  desire  to  learn, " Milton  wrote  in  his 
Areonagitica. "there  of  necessity  will  be  much  arguing,  much  writing, 
many  opinions;  for  opinion  in  good  men  is  but  knowledge  in  the 
making. 


"errors,  heresies,  and  blasphemies,"  among  which  were  the  following: 

"That  the  Scriptures  are  a dead  letter,  and  no  more  to 
be  credited  than  the  writings  of  men." 

"That  right  Reason  is  the  rule  of  Faith." 

"That  the  magistrate  may  not  punish  for  blasphemies, nor  for 
denying  the  Scriptures, nor  for  denying  that  there  is  a God." 

"That  the  soul  dies  with  the  body,  and  all  things  shall 
have  an  end,  but  God  only." 

"That  Jesus  Christ  is  not  very  God:  no  otherwise  may  he 
be  called  the  Son  of  God  but  as  he  was  man." 

"That,  in  ooint  of  Religion,  even  in  the  Articles  of  Faith 
and  principles  of  Religion,  there’s  nothing  certainly  to  be 
believed  and  built  on;  only  that  all  men  ought  to  have 
liberty  of  conscience  and  liberty  of  prophesying." 

Mg.sson,  III,  143-5.  , . 

‘Milton,  ^ Education,  etc.  Ed.  Lockwood,  Boston  (1911).  p.  130. 


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350 


Falkland  and  the  other  liberal  thinkers  of  the  seventeenth 
century  church  found  themselves  in  the  midst  of  conflicting 
dogmatisms,  all  seeking  to  enforce  their  conceptions  of  truth  upon 
others.  The  Catholics  believed  in  the  infallibility  of  the  Church 
of  Rome,  the  Puritans  in  the  absolute  correctness  of  the  Puritans 
in  creed  and  ceremonial,  the  Anglicans  in  the  divine  right  of  King 
and  Bishop.  Religious  certainty  was  the  burning  question,  with 
which  all  parties  were  most  deeply  concerned.  Falkland  subjected 
the  idea  of  infallibility  to  a rigorous  criticism,  with  the  con- 
clusion that  no  man  can  escape  from  the  responsibility  and  necessity 
of  depending  on  his  own  reason,  weak  and  untutored  though  it  be.  For 
infallibility  itself  must  be  proved  to  the  reason  before  it  can  be 
accepted  as  a principle  of  religious  authority;  next,  it  must  be 
demonstrated  to  the  reason  that  this  infallibility  belongs  to  one 
church  and  to  no  other;  and  finally,  suppose  the  Church  of  Rome  to 
be  infallible,  yet  the  individual  must  understand  her  teachings  by 
means  of  his  own  corrupt  reason,  and  thus  we  return  again  to  the 
individualism  from  which  we  expressly  sought  to  escape.  But  Falkland 
had  no  regrets;  he  preferred  erring  sincerity  to  that  external  uni- 
formity v?hich  he  thought  was  all  that  an  infallible  church  could 
secure . 

’’Grant  the  Church,"  he  says,  "to  be  infallible, 
yet  methinks  he  that  denies  it,  and  employs  his 
reason  to  seek  if  it  be  true,  should  be  in  as  good 
case  as  he  that  believeth  it,  and  searcheth  not  at 
all  the  truth  of  the  proposition  he  receives.  For 
I cannot  see  why  he  should  be  saved  because  by 
reason  of  his  parents'  belief,  or  the  religion  of 
the  country,  or  some  such  accident,  the  truth  was 
offered  to  his  understanding,  when,  had  the  contrary 
been  offered,  he  would  have  received  that.  And  the 
other  damned  that  believes  falsehood  upon  as  good 


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251 


ground  as  the  other  doth  truth,  unless  the  Church 
be  like  a conjuror's  circle,  that  will  keep  a man 
from  the  devil,  though  he  came  into  it  by  chance.” 

Falkland  kept  open  house  at  Great  Tew,  his  estate  near 
Oxford,  in  the  generous  manner  of  the  great  gentlemen  of  that  time. 
And  from  the  group  which  frequented  his  home  in  the  thirties,  sprang 
the  liberal  party  within  the  Anglican  Church.  Although  Falkland  had 
many  friendships  with  poets  and  men  of  letters  as  well  as  with 
theologians,^  his  own  interests  tended,  with  those  of  his  time,  more 
and  more  towards  Divinity.  Clarendon  has  described  the  life  at  Tew: 

Falkland's  house,  he  says,  "being  within  ten  or 
twe-lve  miles  of  the  university,  looked  like  the 
university  itself,  by  the  company  that  was  always 
found  there.  There  were  Dr.  Sheldon,  Dr.  Morley, 

Dr.  Hammond,  Dr.  Earles,  Mr.  Chillingworth,  and 
indeed  all  mien  of  eminent  parts  and  faculties  in 
Oxford,  besides  those  who  resorted  thither  from 
London;  who  all  found  their  lodgings  there,  as 
ready  as  in  the  colleges;  nor  did  the  lord  of  the 
house  know  of  their  coming  or  going,  nor  who  were 
in  his  house,  till  he  came  to  dinner,  or  supper, 
where  all  still  met;  otherwise,  there  was  no 
troublesome  ceremony  or  constraint,  to  forbid  men 
to  come  to  the  house,  or  to  make  them  weary  of 
staying  there;  so  that  many  came  thither  to  study 
in  a better  air,  finding  all  the  books  they  could 
desire  in  his  library,  and  all  the  persons  together, 
whose  company  they  could  wish,  and  not  find  in  any 
other  society.  Here  Mr.  Chillingworth  wrote,  and 


^Quoted  by  Tulloch,  John,  Rational  Theology  and  Chr i s t ian  Ph i los qphjr 
in  England  in  the  Seventeenth  Century,  2nd  ed.,  Edinburgh  (1874). 

I,  164-5.  I have  had  to  rely  on  Tulloch  for  my  information  on 
Falkland  and  Hales;  Tulloch  had  no  special  interest  in  the  sceptical 
tendency  in  these  men,  nor  even  called  it  by  that  name,  b'ut  his 
liberal  quotations  have  been  serviceable  for  my  purpose. 

^See  Suckling's  famous  A^  Sessions  of  the  Poets , written  probably 
in  1637.  Falkland  is  represented  as 

"of  late  so  gone  with  Divinity 

That  he  had  almost  forgot  his  Poetry, 

Though  to  say  the  truth  (and  Apollo  did  know  it) 

He  might  have  been  both  his  Priest  and  his  Poet.”  193. 
Spingarn,  Critical  Essays  of  the  Seventeenth  Century, 0xford(l908) . I, 


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fornisd,  sincL  niod,6ll®ci,  liis  sxcsllsn'b  "book  a.ga.ins't 
the  learned  Jesuit  Mr.  Nott,  after  frequent  debates 
upon  the  most  important  particulars;  in  many  of 
which  he  suffered  himself  to  be  overruled  by  the 
judgment  of  his  friends,  though  in  others  he  still 
adhered  to  his  own  fancy,  which  was  sceptical  enough, 
even  in  the  highest  points.” 

The  reply  to  Knott  was  Chillingworth’ s Tl^  Religion  of  Protestant^ 

[1637),  one  of  the  most  potent  works  of  the  time  in  fostering  the 

liberal  spirit.  John  Hales  is  not  mentioned  by  Clarendon  as  one  of 

the  group,  but  he  is  included  in  Suckling’s  poem,  and  is  said  by  his 

eighteenth  century  biographer  to  have  frequented  the  society  of 

2 

Falkland,  Suckling  and  Ben  Jonson. 

Hales  and  Chillingworth,  like  Falkland,  sought  the 
media;  they  rejected  the  Catholic  doctrine  of  infallibility,  pursued 
it  through  the  labyrinths  of  theological  argument  to  its  last 
retreat;  but  though  they  were  individualists  in  philosophy  and 
admitted  that  in  the  last  analysis  each  man  must  be  his  own  judge  of 
truth,  they  sought  to  encourage  and  preserve  Christian  unity.  They 
accepted,  as  the  basis  of  all  doctrine,  the  inspiration  of  the  Bible; 
and  inasmuch  as  the  interpretations  of  the  Bible  varied,  they  sought 
concord  by  eliminating  the  dark  places  and  disputable  doctrines  as 
not  essential  to  salvation.  On  the  important  doctrines,  they 
thought,  all  Christians  could  agree,  and  as  for  the  other  points, 
free  discussion,  conducted  in  a charitable  and  reasonable  spirit, 
should  be  permitted  to  the  curious.  But  let  no  one  pretend  to 

^Life  of  Clarendon,  Oxford  (1857).  I,  39-40. 

^An  Historical  and  Critical  Account,  of.  the_  L ife.  and  ^ ^ 

Ever -Memorable  Mr . John  Hale  s , by  P.  Des  Maizeaux,  published  in  171 

See  Tulloch,  op.  cit.  I,  193. 


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certitude  where  the  best  thought  of  Christendom  is  divided. 

Such  a position  was  of  course  a compromise,  but  it  was  in 
its  time  very  liberal.  Hales  and  Chillingworth  were  vigorous  and 
effective  champions  of  liberty  of  thought,  and  all  the  more  effec- 
tive because  they  were  within  the  church,  not  attacking  it.  They 
understood  that  the  pathway  out  of  ignorance  and  error  is  steep  and 
rugged  and  tortuous,  and  that  often  it  leads,  not  to  certain  know- 
ledge, but  only  to  doubt.  They  denounced  the  Medieval  doctrine  that 
intellectual  error  is  a crime;  they  denied  the  justice,  the  right, 
the  desirability  of  that  intellectual  unity  to  which  the  Church  in 
the  Middle  Ages,  and  to  a large  extent  also  in  the  Renaissance,  had 
aspired.  "It  is  not  the  variety  of  opinions,”  said  Hales  in  one  of 
his  sermons,  ”but  our  own  perverse  wills,  who  think  it  meet  that 
all  should  be  conceited  as  ourselves  are,  which  hath  so  incon- 
venienced the  Church.”^  Their  charity  and  tolerance  taught  them 
that  differences  of  opinion  are  not  always  a sign  of  moral  depravity, 
that  doubt  is  not  necessarily  sin.  They  restricted  the  meaning  of 
the  terrible  word  "heresy." 

"For  heresy,"  said  Hales,  "is  an  act  of  will, 
not  of  reason,  and  is  indeed  a lie,  not  a mistake, 
else  how  could  that  kno'wn  speech  of  Austin  go  for 
t rue , Errare  possum,  haeret icus  esse  nolo?  . . . 

But  can  any  man  avouch  that  Arius  and  Nestorius, 
and  others  that  taught  erroneously  concerning  the 
Trinity,  or  the  person  of  our  Saviour,  did 
maliciously  invent  what  they  taught,  and  not  rather 
1 fall  upon  it  by  error  and  mistake?  Till  that  be 

done,  and  that  upon  good  evidence,  we  will  think 
no  worse  of  all  parties  than  needs  we  must,  and 
take  these  rents  in  the  Church  to  be  at  the  worst 
but  schisms  upon  matter  of  opinion." 


^Quoted  by  Tulloch,  op.  cit.  I,  224. 

^Quoted  by  Tulloch,  op.  cit.  I,  228. 


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Q^illins^worth  likewise  maintained  everywhere  in  his  famous  treatise 
that  the  differences  between  sects  were  in  regard  to  points  not 
fundamental,  where  the  resolution  of  doubts  was  unnecessary  or  even 
impossible . 

This  liberalism  was  not  confined  to  the  group  gathered 
about  Falkland.  Jeremy  Taylor,  in  his  Discourse  on  Li.b.e_r-^  of 
Prophesying  (1647),  admitted  the  impossibility  of  intellectual  unity 

in  the  church. 


"The  infinite  variety  of  opinions  in  matters  of 
religion,"  he  says,  "as  they  have  troubled 
Christendom  with  interests,  factions,  and 
partialities,  so  have  they  caused  great  divisions 
of  the  heart  and  variety  of  thoughts  and  designs 
among  pious  and  prudent  men.  For  they  all,  seeing 
the  inconveniences  which  the  disunion  of  persuasions 
and  opinions  have  produced  directly  or  accidentally, 
have  thought  themselves  obliged  to  stop  this  inunda- 
tion of  mischiefs,  and  have  made  attempts  accordingly 
. . . All  men  resolved  upon  this,  that  though  they 
had  not  hit  upon  the  right,  yet  some  way  must  be 
thought  upon  to  reconcile  differences  in  opinion, 
thinking  so  long  as  this  variety  should  last, 

Christ's  kingdom  was  not  advanced,  and  the  work 
of  the  gospel  went  on  but  slowly.  Few  men  in  the 
mean  time  considered  that  so  long  as  men  had  such 
variety  of  principles,  such  several  constitutions, 
educations,  tempers  and  distempers,  hopes,  inter- 
ests, and  weaknesses,  degrees  of  light  and  degrees 
of  understanding,  it  was  impossible  all  should  be 
of  one  mind;  and  what  is  impossible  to  be  done,  is 
not  necessary  it  should  be  done." 


Taylor  repeats  the  distinction  quoted  above  from  Hales,  between  the 
sin  of  heresy  and  intellectual  error.  "For  heresy  is  not  an  error 
of  the  understanding,  but  an  error  of  the  will."  He  emphasized 
more  the  agreement  which  he  found  on  a few  things,  than  the  multi- 
tude of  disagreements. 


oTaylor,  Jeremy,  Works , London  (1849).  V,  365-6. 
^Ibid.  V.  383.  


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Why,  he  asks,  "should  I hate  such  persons 
whom  God  loves  and  who  love  God,  who  are  partakers 
of  Christ  and  Christ  hath  a title  to  them,  who 
dwell  in  Christ  and  Christ  in  them,  because  their 
understandings  have  not  been  brought  up  like  mine, 
have  not  had  the  same  masters,  they  have  not  met 
with  the  same  books  nor  the  same  company,  or  have 
not  the  same  interest,  or  are  not  so  wise,  or  else 
are  wiser;  that  is,  for  some  reason  or  other  which 
I neither  do  understand  nor  ought  to  blame,  have 
not  the  same  opinions  that  I have,  and  do  not 
determine  their  school— Questions  to  the  sense  of 
my  sect  or  interest?"  ^ 

These  expressions  of  tolerance,  of  lat itudinarianism,  were 
a sign  of  the  reaction  against  the  dogmatism  of  the  Reformed  as  well 
as  of  the  Catholic  church.  The  zeal  for  conquest  which  had  inspired 
the  powerful  Protestant  sects,  was  gradually  exhausted  in  the  long 
and  wearisome  conflict  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Richard  Baxter, 
in  looking  back  over  his  long  career,  noted  the  change  which  had 
come  over  himself. 

"In  my  youth,"  he  says,  in  that  intelleotuaj. 
autobiography  written  in  the  wisdom  and  mellow- 
ness of  years,  "in  my  youth  I was  quickly  past 
my  Fundamentals,  and  was  running  up  into  a multi- 
tude of  Controversies,  and  greatly  delighted  with 
metaphysical  and  scholastick  Writings  . . . But 

the  elder  I grew  the  smaller  stress  I laid  upon 
these  Controversies  and  Curiosities  (though  still 
my  intellect  abhorreth  Confusion),  as  finding  far 
greater  Uncertainties  in  them,  than  I at  first 
discerned,  and  finding  less  Usefulness  compara- 
tively, even  where  there  is  the  greatest 
Certainty  . . . And  thus  I observed  it  was,"  he 
continues,  "with  old  bishop  Ushe r , and  with  many 
other  Men."^ 

The  fierce  fanaticism  of  the  first  half  of  the  century  had  been  suc- 
ceeded by  tolerance  and  mild  scepticism,  even  among  the  leaders  of 
the  factions. 


ilbid.  V,  346.  no- 

^Reliquiae  Eaxterianae . London  (1696} . p.  13d. 


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individualism,  their  rationalistic  method  and  spirit,  their  emphasis 
on  simplification  of  doctrine,  all  tended  towards  natural  theology. 
Even  Richard  Baxter  experienced,  after  his  youthful  confidence,  such 
strong  doubts  "that  had  I been  void  of  internal  Experience,  and  the 
Adhesion  of  Love,  and  the  special  help  of  God,  and  had  not  discerned 
more  Reason  for  my  Religion  than  I did  when  I was  younger,  I had 
certainly  Apostatized  to  Infidelity."^  As  all  truths  are  not 
equally  certain,  therefore,  he  said, 

"I  do  more  of  late  than  ever  discern  a necessity  of 
a methodical  procedure  in  maintaining  the  Doctrine 
of  Christianity,  and  of  beginning  at  Natural 
Verities,  as  presupposed  fundamentally  to  super- 
natural ...  My  certainty  that  I am  a Man,  is 
before  my  certainty  that  there  is  a God  ... 

My  certainty  that  there  is  a God,  is  greater  than 
my  certainty  that  he  requireth  love  and  holiness 
of  his  Creature:  My  certainty  of  this  is  greater 

than  my  certainty  of  the  Life  of  Reward  and 
Punishment  hereafter:  My  certainty  of  that 

is  greater  than  my  certainty  of  the  endless 
duration  of  it,  and  of  the  immortality  of 
individuate  souls:  My  certainty  of  the  Deity 

is  greater  than  my  certainty  of  the  Christian 
Faith:  My  certainty  of  the  Christian  Faith  in 
its  Essentials,  is  greater  than  my  certainty 
of  the  Perfection  and  Infallibility  of  all  the 
Holy  Scriptures:  My  certainty  of  that  is  greater 
than  my  certainty  of  the  meaning  of  many  par- 
ticular Texts,  and  so  of  the  truth  of  many 
particular  Doctrines,  or  of  the  Canonicalness 
of  some  certain  Books. "2 

Baxter  was  not  a Deist.  But  as  so  often  has  happened  in  the 
history  of  thought,  Baxter  found  it  was  good  tactics  to  occupy  some 
of  the  enemy  territory. 

Finally,  all  these  liberal  churchmen  learned  a humiility  of 
the  reason,  a keen  sense  of  the  limitations  of  the  power  of  know- 


^Reliquiae  Baxterianae.  p.  127. 
Reliquiae  Baxterianae , p.  138 . 


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!.ed^6,  which  was  at  least  edged  with  scepticism.  Aubrey  s story  of 
Qjiillingworth  reading  Sextus  Empiricus,  whether  authentic  or  not, 
has  its  significance 5 it  indicates  ths.t  somebody  at  that  time  saw 
the  sceptical  trend  in  the  thought  of  the  churchman.  ’’Although  I 
be  as  desirous  to  know  what  I should  and  what  I should  not,”  said 
Jeremy  Taylor,  ” as  a-ny  of  my  brethren  the  sons  of  Adam;  yet  I find 
■jhat  the  more  I search,  the  further  I am  from  being  satisfied,  and 
make  but  few  discoveries  save  of  my  own  ignorance."^  The  constant 
text  of  all  of  them  was  the  vanity  of  dogmatizing.  They  effectively 
criticized  the  Medieval  ideal  of  the  intellectual  unity  of 
Christendom,  and  laid  the  foundations  for  a theory  of  tolerance 
within  the  church.  And  therefore,  though  they  remained  orthodox  in 
their  creed,  their  spirit  and  principles  liberalized  English  rexi— 
gious  thought  from  within  by  such  an  extension  of  religious  and 
philosophical  individualism,  as  only  dissenters  attempted  in  the 
sixteenth  century.  They  carried  one  step  further  the  disintegrating 
movement  of  the  Ref orm.ation. 

Ill 

Sir  Thomas  Browne:  Scepticism  and  Religious  Wonder 

In  1643  a physician  at  Norwich  was  forced,  by  the  previous 
unauthorized  printings  from  an  imperfect  manuscript  copy,  to  give  to 
the  world  his  Re ligi o Medici . a private  confession  of  faith  written 
some  eight  years  earlier.  It  was,  he  explained  in  the  preface,  ”a 
private  Exercise  directed  to  my  self”  and  "what  is  delivered  therein, 

^Taylor,  ed.  cit.  V.  563.  — 


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was  rather  a memorial  unto  me , than  an  Example  or  Rule  unto  any 
other.”  The  book  immediately  had  a great  vogue,  not  only  in  England, 
but  on  the  Continent,  where  it  was  appreciated  for  its  substance 
rather  than  style  in  a Latin  translation.  It  was  no  nine  days 
wonder;  twenty  years  later  a friend  of  Pepys  declared  that  in  all 
his  life  these  three  books  were  the  most  esteemed  and  generally 
cried  up  for  wit  in  the  world  — Religip  Medici.,  Osborne's  Advice  to 
a Son,  and  Hudibras.”^  Thus  launched  auspiciously  on  his  career  of 
authorship,  Thomas  Browne  published  more  willingly  his  later  works, 
the  most  ambitious  of  which  was  Pseudodoxia  Epidemica,,  a massive 
attack  on  the  superstitions  of  the  science  and  learning  of  the  time. 
These  superstitious  errors  Browne  attributed  to  four  causes,  first, 
the  common  infirmiity  of  human  nature,  so  painfully  exhibited  by  our 
ancestors  in  the  Garden  of  Eden;  second  the  ignorance  and  inclina- 
tion to  error  among  the  uneducated;  third,  credulity,  supinity,  and 
adherence  to  authority;  and  fourth,  that  "invisible  Agent, and  secret 
promoter  without  us,  whose  activity  is  undiscerned,  and  plays  in  the 
dark  upon  us,"  namely,  the  Devil. ^ Browne's  four  sources  of  error 
have  suggested  to  some  of  his  critics  a comparison  with  Bacon  s four 
kinds  of  Idols,  but  if  Bro'wne  had  read  Bacon,  it  must  have  been 
superficially.  He  was  not  fitted  to  understand  the  plodding  method 
of  his  predecessor,  and  Bacon  would  have  spurned  as  puerile  Browne  s 
solemn  refutation  of  fabulous  natural  history.  In  intellect  and 
tem.per  the  two  men  were  opposite:  Bacon,  dogmatic,  affirmative, 

systematic,  confident  of  human  progress  by  means  of  scientific 

JPepys,  Samuel,  Diary.  Jan.  27,  1664.  ed. Globe,  p.  241. 

^Browne,  Sir  Thomas,  Works , ed.Sayle,  London  (1904;.  I,  182. 

^For  instance.  More,  P.E.,  She Iburne  Essays , Sixth  Series,  N.Y. 
(1909).  p.  163.  ■ 


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knowledge,  always  concerned  with  practical  achievement;  Browne,  on 
the  contrary,  questioning,  hesitating,  possessed  of  a profound 
intellectual  humility,  an  obscure  reader  of  old  folios  who  nourished 
his  emotions  and  imagination  chiefly  upon  the  wonder  and  mystery  of 
this  world  and  the  invisible  which  transcends  it,  whose  thirty  years 
of  commonplace  life  seemed  to  him  nothing  less  than  a miracle. 

Browne  ?/as  in  fact  not  related  intellectually  to  Bacon  but 
to  Montaigne.  It  is  not  in  the  superficial  criticism  of  super- 
stitions in  the  Pseudodoxia  En idemioa,  but  in  the  more  profound 
scepticism  of  Re ligio  Medici  that  we  find  the  real  Brov?ne,  and  this 
scepticism,  like  Browne’s  informal  manner,  he  owed  partly  to  the 
Essays.^  He  had  the  easy  tolerance,  the  distrust  of  reasoning,  the 
sense  of  the  fluidity  of  opinion,  which  characterized  the  author  of 
the  Apologle  de  Raimond  Sebond.  He  is  content  with  his  own  religion, 
and  content  to  let  others  retain  theirs.  ”I  could  never  divide 
myself  from  any  man  upon  the  difference  of  an  opinion,  or  be  angry 
with  his  judgment  for  not  agreeing  with  me  in  that  from  which  per- 
haps within  a fe'W  days  I should  dissent  myself.”^  One  is  reminded 
of  Montaigne's  description  of  his  own  nature  as  divers  e_t  pndoya.n'^. 
Disputes  and  arguments,  Browne  thought,  are  no  more  reliable  than 
pitched  battles  in  settling  doubtful  points.  "A  man  may  be  in  as 
just  possession  of  Truth  as  of  a City,  and  yet  be  forced  to  sur- 
render; 'tis  therefore  far  better  to  enjoy  her  with  peace  than  to 
hazard  her  on  a battle.”^  This  unheroic  attitude  was  due  not  to 
timidity,  but  to  a conviction  that  truth  had  little  to  do  with 

^Cf . Texte,  Joseph,  La  De s c e ndan c e de_  Montaigne  in  Etude_s  de_ 
Litte'^rature  Eur ooeenne . Paris , (.1S9S1  . pp^  51 -9o  . 

~^Browne ] ^d.  cit,  I,  12.  ^Ibid.  I,  12.  


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r©6LSon.  H©  would,  tisiv©  8.§r©sd.  wHiti  P3,sc3.1  'tliji'tj  d.oiib'b  is  1^11©  ‘truss't 
philosophy. 

”We  do  but  l©arn  to-day,  what  our  better 
advanced  ^udgesients  will  unteach  to— morrowj  and 
Aristotle  doth  but  instruct  us,  as  Plato  did  himj 
that  is,  to  confute  himself.  I have  run  through 
all  sorts,  yet  find  no  rest  in  any:  though  our 
first  studies  and  junior  endeavours  may  style  us 
Peripateticks,  Stoicks,  or  Academicks,  yet  I per- 
ceive the  wisest  heads  prove,  at  last,  almost  all 
Scepticks,  and  stand  like  Janus  in  the  field  of 
knowledge. 

Our  life  is  bounded  on  every  side  by  the  unknowable.  The  wisest 

2 ^ 

understandings  are  tormented  by  unanswerable  doubts,  and  we  are 
unable  to  know  one  another,  nay  even  ourselves.  "No  man  can  justly 
censure  or  condemn  another,  because  indeed  no  man  truly  knows 
another.  This  I perceive  in  myself;  for  I am  in  the  dark  to  all  the 
world  and  my  nearest  friends  behold  me  but  in  a cloud. " "Our  ends 
are  as  obscure  as  our  beginnings;  the  line  of  our  days  is  drawn  by 
night,  and  the  various  effects  therein  by  a pencil  that  is 
invisible . 

But  as  the  Greek  Sceptics  had  taught  that  custom  and 
tradition  is  the  safest  guide,  as  Montaigne  and  Pascal  used 
scepticism  as  a defense  of  their  Catholic  faith,  so  Browne  dis- 
ciplines and  humiliates  his  insubordinate  reason  by  means  of  a 
thorough  Pyrrhonism,  but  only  that  Faith  may  rise  triumphant.  Within 
his  own  nature  he  observes  a constant  feud  between  passion,  reason 
and  faith.  "As  the  Propositions  of  Faith  seem  absurd  unto  Reason, 
so  the  Theorems  of  Reason  unto  Passion, and  both  unto  Faith."  Reason 


: 


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is  constantly  raising  objections,  demanding  explanations:  perhaps 

the  combustion  of  Gomorrah  was  due  to  "an  asphaltic  and  bituminous 
nature"  of  the  lake;  manna  is  now  plentiful  in  Calabria,  and  where 
then  was  the  miracle  of  the  days  of  Moses?  But  these  attempts  to 
rationalize  our  knowledge,  by  seducing  our  reason,  weaken  our  faith. 
It  is  better  to  remain  in  our  ignorance  and  believe,  than  to  strive 
for  that  knowledge  which  makes  belief  unnecessary,  "The  Devil 
played  at  Chess  with  me,  and  yielding  a Pavwn,  thought  to  gain  a 
Queen  of  me,  taking  advantage  of  my  honest  endeavours;  and  whilst 
I laboured  to  raise  the  structure  of  my  Reason,  he  strived  to 
undermine  the  edifice  of  my  Faith. Browne  countered  his  artful 
adversary;  he  undermined  his  O’wn  reason,  so  that  he  might  raise 
freely  the  structure  of  his  faith. 


"Since  I was  of  understanding  to  know  we  knew 
nothing,"  he  says,  "my  reason  hath  been  more 
pliable  to  the  will  of  Faith;  I am  now  content 
to  understand  a mystery  without  a rigid  definition, 
in  an  easie  and  Platonick  description.  That 
allegorical  description  of  He rme s . pleaseth  me 
beyond  all  the  Metaphysical  definitions  of 
Divines;  where  I cannot  satisfie  my  reason, 

I love  to  humour  my  fancy  . . . Where  there 
is  an  obscurity  too  deep  for  our  Reason,  ’tis 
good  to  sit  down  with  a description,  periphrasis, 
or  adumbration;  for  by  acquainting  our  Reason  how 
unable  it  is  to  display  the  visible  and  obvious 
effects  of  nature,  it  becomes  more  humble  and 
submissive  unto  the  subtleties  of  Faith;  and 
thus  I teach  my  haggard  and  unreclaimed  reason 
to  stoop  unto  the  lure  of  Faith  . . . And  this 
I think" is  no  vulgar  part  of  Faith,  to  believe 
a thing  not  only  above,  but  contrary  to  Reason, 
and  against  the  Arguments  of  our  proper  Senses." 


In  this  state  of  mind,  faith  becomes  easy,  it  surmounts  every  dif- 
ficulty. "Methinks  there  be  not  impossibilities  enough  in  Religion 


ilbid. 

‘^Ibid. 


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263 


for  an  active  faith  ...  I love  to  lose  my  self  in  a mystery, 
to  pursue  my  Reason  to  an  0 altitudpr  Scornfully  Brovme  says  that 
"'tis  an  easy  and  necessary  belief  to  credit  what  our  eye  and  sense 
hath  examined."^ 

If  we  ask  at  how  many  points  this  paradoxical  thought  of 


Browne  touched  upon  his  age,  the  answer  is  not  simple.  His 
scepticism  is  of  course  of  the  lineage  of  Sextus  Empiricus  and 
Montaigne.  Montaigne  also  defended  Pyrrhonism  as  an  induction  into 
religious  faith,  and  Pascal  was  soon  to  do  the  same  thing  more 
powerfully  and  more  sincerely.  Thus  the  essential  elements  of 
Browne's  thought  were  connected,  by  means  of  all  those  obscure 
origins,  sympathies,  interrelations  and  parallelisms  which  have 
marked  Eurooean  movements  since  the  Renaissance,  with  Pascal  and 
the  Jansenists  as  well  as  with  some  of  the  religious  poets  of 
England.  The  apparent  spontaneity  of  similar  developments  in 
England  and  France,  neither  one  aware  of  the  other,  is  a proof  of 
their  historical  necessity  and  inevitableness.  Human  nature  makes 
its  philosobhies  as  its  poetry,  to  satisfy  its  needs. 

But  although  Browne  came  so  close  to  the  central  problem 
of  his  century,  he  failed  to  become  one  of  its  great  thinkers.  It 
seems  to  me  misleading  to  say  of  him  that  his  significance  "lies  in 
the  fact  that  he  was  at  once  by  intellect  a force  in  the  forward 
movement  and  by  temperament  a reactionary."  His  intellect  lacked 
independence,  keenness,  accuracy  and  critical  poise.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  distinguish  from  his  temperament,  so  completely  is  it  led, 
turned,  directed  into  devious  ways  by  the  demands  of  his  imagination 


ilbid.  I,  16-17. 
'^More,  P.  E.,  op.  cit. 


161. 


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^al  It  gi  ^Xa^aXqaop  oa  ^faPaa‘X®':?.r{>x  aid  dsiL'qftXXai-fc. 'X 

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and  emotion.  This  is  why  Browne  is  no  longer  read  for  his  insight 
and  wisdom,  as  Pascal  is,  but  only  for  the  charming  naivete  of  hie 
genial  self-revelation,  the  splendor  and  even  sublimity  of  his 
imagination,  and  the  quaint  beauty  of  his  style.  He  is  for  us 
pre-eminently  a humourist , in  the  older  sense  of  the  word. 

If  Browne  was  not  forward-looking  in  intellect,  it  was 
not  because  he  misunderstood  the  spirit  of  his  century.  In  an 
interesting  passage  in  his  Christ ian  Morals  he  refers  to  the 
enlightenment  of  his  time. 


’’Let  thy  Studies,”  he  writes,  ”be  free  as  thy 
Thoughts  and  Contemplations:  but  fly  not  only  upon 
the  wings  of  Imagination;  Joyn  Sense  unto  Reason, 
and  Experiment  unto  Speculation,  and  so  give  life 
unto  Embryon  Truths,  and  Verities  yet  in  their 
Chaos.  There  is  nothing  more  acceptable  unto 
the  Ingenious  World,  than  this  noble  Eluctation 
of  Truth;  wherein,  against  the  tenacity  of 
Prejudice  and  Prescription,  this  Century  now  pre- 
vaileth.  What  Libraries  of  new  Volumes  aftertimes 
will  behold,  and  in  what  a new  World  of  Knowledge 
the  eyes  of  our  posterity  may  be  happy,  a few  Ages 
roa-y  joyfully  declare.”^ 


But  his  own  studies  flew  upon  the  wings  of  the  imagination,  and  his 
haggard  and  unreclaimed  reason  followed  in  servility.  He  passed 
lightly  and  easily  from  conjecture  to  conjecture,  arriving  at  his 
conclusion  merely  by  the  aid  of  a ” surely”  or  a ”no  doubt.”  When 
he  had  observed  how  generally  the  ancients  planted  their  gardens 
in  the  pattern  of  the  quincunx,  he  had  a great  desire  to  pursue 
the  antiquity  of  this  mystical  design  to  its  origin,  perhaps  in 
the  first  Paradise.  Observe  the  successive  stages  of  his  argument: 

”That  the  first  Plantations  not  long  after  the 
Floud  were  disposed  after  this  manner,  the  generality 


^Browne,  ed.  cit.  Ill,  470. 


aiir  icl  X4j^/k»X  ccf  si  ^Ui»  at  elrjt  . .col^otm  6: 


alxf  70  -jdT  \lao  Jx/cf  {tei  Iacsu^  sa  ^ttofielr  * 

-',-r'' 


aiyrd  Tctirol^s  sd;^  *ixol^*ldv‘9i-Tio»'»Xj5lxr^ 

■V-  ' ■ ' / ' “'  ''’■f  / 


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265 


and  antiauity  of  this  order  observed  in  Vineyards, 
and  Wine  Plantations,  affordeth  some  conjecture. 

And  since  from  judicious  enquiry,  Saturn  who 
divided  the  world  between  his  three  sonnes,  who 
beareth  a Sickle  in  his  hand,  who  taught  the 
Plantations  of  Vines,  the  setting,  grafting  of 
trees,  and  the  best  part  of  Agriculture,  is  dis- 
covered to  be  Noah,  whether  this  early  dispersed 
Husbandry  in  Vineyards,  had  not  its  Original  in 
that  Patriarch,  is  no  such  Paralogical  doubt. 

’’And  if  it  were  clear  that  this  was  used  by 
Noah  after  the  Floud,  I could  easily  beleeve  it 
was  in  use  before  it;  Not  willing  to  fix 
ancient  inventions  no  higher  original  then  Noah; 

Nor  readily  conceiving  those  aged  Heroes.,  whose 
diet  was  vegetable,  and  only,  or  chiefly  consisted 
in  the  fruits  of  the  earth,  were  much  deficient  in 
their  splendid  cultivations;  or  after  the  experience 
of  fifteen  hundred  years,  left  much  for  future  dis- 
covery in  Botanical  Agriculture.” 

Such  scholarship  was  whimsical  even  in  the  seventeenth  century,  the 
age  of  Casaubon  and  Selden.  And  in  philosophy  and  divinity  as  well, 
Browne’s  intellect  but  served  his  predilections.  His  belief  in 
immortality,  he  said,  had  been  "instructed"  by  the  "smattering  I 
have  of  the  Philosophers  Stone"  and  by  "those  strange  and  mystical 
transmigrations  that  I have  observed  in  Silk -worms. He  believed 
in  the  resurrection  because  without  a belief  in  a futiire  life  he  was 
unable  to  withstand  temptation.^  His  way  of  thinking  was  that 
ancient  one  which  in  our  time  has  been  given  the  name  Pragmatic. 

truths  were  such  proposition^as  he  found  it  advantageous  to  believe. 

7 

"In  Bivious  Theorems  and  Janus -faced  Doctrines,"  he  writes  in 
Christian  Morals,  "let  Virtuous  considerations  state  the  determina- 


tion. Look  upon  Opinions  as  thou  dost  upon  the  Moon,  and  ohuse  not 


^Ibid. 

^Ibid. 

^Ibid. 


Ill,  153-4. 
I,  58. 

I,  67. 


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V J*  ^.. 


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I'Msefi  odt  a wig  as^d  oad  ©«it  xuO  <j|  doidw  aao 


M- 


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- - 7 ■^^»'-  '.  V*»  T - 


266 


the  dark  hemisphere  for  thy  contemplation.  Embrace  not  the  opacous 
and  blind  side  of  Opinions,  but  that  which  looks  most  Luciferously 
or  influentially  unto  Goodness."^  From  amons;  the  many  illustrations 
of  this  method  in  his  works,  we  may  select  that  passage  in  Religio 
[Medici . where,  beginning  with  confessed  doubt  and  ignorance,  he  is 
[yet  able  to  satisfy  himself  not  only  regarding  the  existence  of 
spirits,  but  even  to  give  a scholastic  definition  of  their  nature. 

"For  Spirits,"  he  says,  "I  am  so  far  from  denying 
their  existence,  that  I could  easily  believe,  that 
not  onely  whole  Countries,  but  particular  pepons 
have  their  Tutelary  and  Guardian  Angels:  It  is  not 
a new  opinion  of  the  Church  of  Rome.,  but  an  old  one 
of  Pythagoras  and  Plato;  there  is  no  heresie  in  it; 
and  if  not  manifestly  defin'd  in  Scripture,  yet  is 
it  an  oninion  of  a good  and  wholesome  use  in  the 
course  and  actions  of  a mans  life,  and  would  serve  as 
an  Hvoothesis  to  salve  many  doubts,  whereof  common  ^ 
Philosophy  affordeth  no  solution.  Now  if  you  demand 
my  opinion  and  Metaphysicks  of  their  natures,  I con- 
fess them  very  shallow,  most  of  them  in  a negative 
way  like  that  of  God;  or  in  a comparative,  between 
our  selves  and  fellow— creatures;  for  there  is  in 
this  Universe  a Stair,  or  manifest  Scale  of 
creatures,  rising  not  disorderly,  or  in  confusion, 
but  with  a comely  method  and  proportion.  . . . 

Having  therefore  no  certain  knowledge  of  their 
Natures,  'tis  no  bad  method  of  the  Schools,  whatso- 
ever perfection  we  find  obscurely  in  our  selves,  in 
a more  compleat  and  absolute  way  to  ascribe  unto 
them  I believe  they  have  an  extemporary  knowledge, 
and  upon  the  first  motion  of  their  reason  do  what  we 
cannot  without  study  or  deliberation;  that  they  know 
things  by  their  forms,  and  define  speoifical  differ- 
ence what  we  describe  by  accidents  and  properties; 
and  therefore  probabilities  to  us  may  be  demonstra- 
tions unto  them:  that  they  have  knowledge  not  onely 
of  the  speoifical,  but  numerical  forms  of  individuals, 
and  understand  by  what  reserved  difference  each 
single  Hypostasis  (besides  the  relation  to  its 
species)  becomes  its  numerical  self  . . . I cannot 
with  those  in  that  great  Father  securely  interpret 
the  work  of  the  first  day.  Fiat  lux,  to  the  creation 
of  Angels,  though  I confess  there  is  not  any 


Ibid.  Ill,  483. 


.flOi^Ai!<^fe3-rTOO  toT  6x«:l(j«im©x£  >'X8t 
^Hom  e:(boJC  d9^ld%  tud  i^s^iktUqO  Tlo  9btB^baiSfS  f 

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■>- 


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SMS 


.o8^  ^in  J.Old 


A-^^1 


267 


creature  that  hath  so  neer  a glympse  of  their 
nature,  as  light  in  the  Sun  and  Elements.  We 
stile  it  a bare  accident,  but  where  it  subsists 
alone,  'tis  a spiritual  Substance,  and  may  be 
an  Angel:  in  brief,  conceive  light  invisible, 
and  that  is  a Spirit. 

With  his  reason  bound  in  servitude,  Browne  thus  let  his 
faith  and  imagination  build  him  a universe  to  live  in,  a universe 
filled  primarily  with  the  wonderful.  It  was  constructed  to  satisfy 
the  longings,  whimsicalities,  even  weaknesses,  of  the  heart  and 
soul  of  Browne.  Without  scepticism  no  one  may  enter  into  it,  but 
once  past  the  charmed  portal  and  one  must  be  all  credulity.  It  is 
the  world  of  the  imagination,  with  something  of  the  fascination  and 
mreality  of  a fairy  story.  A strange  religion,  indeed,  for  a 
scientist  or  for  any  enlightened  modern  man!  Yet  we  cannot  question 
the  sincerity  of  Bro^'wne,  who  lived  in  a credulous  age,  when  the 
gravest  and  most  thoughtful  men  believed  not  only  in  tutelar  spirits 
and  the  resurrection,  but  in  witches.  Brovyne  sought  to  keep  the 
straight  path  in  divinity  — he  wanted  to  believe  what  his  contem- 
poraries believed.  But  his  distinction  was  that  he  saw  all  things 
with  the  eyes  of  wonder.  Glanville,  who  in  his  best  passages  echoes 
the  cadence  of  Browne,  and  who  was  his  kin  in  his  scepticism, 
probably  learned  from  him  also  the  sense  of  the  mystery  of  the  world 
and  of  ourselves.  If,  as  Donne  said,  all  divinity  is  love  and 
wonder,  Browne  knew  half  of  divinity;  all  the  world  to  him  was 
wonder.  But  it  is  not  so  certain  that  he  understood  all  that  Donne 
meant  by  love.  For  with  all  his  faith  and  imagination  and  charity,  ^ 
Browne  lacked  intensity  in  his  personal  life.  He  had  no  "hydroptic. 


Ibid. 


I.  48-50. 


to  . a lesr:  o«  diiad  stuSsQXt^ 

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C.  - Ji 

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tj^ltqc'xbxii*  cn  o4rf  ©H  .©til  iBOOSTaq  eXd  at  X^Xaa^Tat  baioaX 



3- 


v< 


268 


immoderate  desires”  after  learning  or  wisdom;  he  did  not  risk  his 
soul  in  adventure  and  recover  it  through  anguish;  he  had  never  eaten 
his  bread  in  tears  and  bitterness,  and  therefore,  as  the  harper 
sang  in  Wilhelm  Meister . he  could  not  know  God.  Bro'wne  never  had 
any  such  revealing  spiritual  crisis  as  Pascal,  who  knew  so  much 
better  ”les  grandeurs  et  miseres  de  1‘homme."  Such  intensity  of 
feeling,  a longing  for  the  comfort  of  finding  one's  weary  and 
broken  soul  precious  in  the  sight  of  God,  is  implied  in  Donne's 
definition  of  divinity  as  love  and  wonder.  Browne's  religion  was 
free  from  this  strain  and  effort;  he  solved  his  problems  by  the 
gentle  method  of  dreaming  meditation.  He  played  his  game  with  the 
Devil  and  won  by  a paradox.  And  as  he  rose  to  bow  adieu,  he  must 
have  imagined  that  he  saw  in  the  features  of  his  bewildered  adver- 
sary an  involuntary  smile  of  surprise  and  admiration. 


IV 

Francis  Osborn:  Scepticism  and  the  New  Courtier  Type 

It  is  not  surprising  that  a work  so  fascinating  to  the 
imagination  as  Religio  Medici  should  be  one  of  the  most  popular 
books  of  its  day,  but  the  vogue  of  Osborn's  Advice  to  a Son  requires 
explanation.  It  lacks  the  preservative  quality  of  a style,  except 
for  some  strongly  flavored  figures  and  a constant  straining  after 
aphorism.  Moreover,  its  thought  is  to  us  platitudinous  and  mediocre. 
And  yet  immediately  upon  its  publication  in  1656  it  gained  for  its 
author  a wide  reputation.  It  was,  in  fact,  a succes  de  scan dale : 
it  was  read  chiefly  by  the  younger  generation,  which  in  every  age, 
as  it  emerges  from  youth  to  manhood,  delights  to  express  its  inde- 


• rtf  to  .o^iTaybcTiAj 


-r' 


iwfn  tJLd  «d  it  "•t»yoo.9z  l‘OM  al'^ltio 


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±£>a  l»v6cr  6i><018  .toO  «0»3i  ton  t£xW"stf  . -i 5 1 al olt  mX t^^il ^ it  §ni» 

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’-S 


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9sljf  ’jcf  er3/,?oiq  ftXd  Xwjfoe"9€f  dmi  »<tj 

*•  • ‘ ?!  ""'f'!  '■  f ■ 

o^jar^  kiii  b9x*^^  9^  ^jsXataa’iBV'^b  ioiitois  ,6lt> 


mm  6tf  ,u3ttA  woe 'os  oao.3  ®d'sa  JboA  . noa  jfejsa' Xi'v 


.o 


..  1 


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,aox:n'itabd  bna  9i£*tiftjj4  aUma  vuss'aj^Xotai  xta 

'^’  • ■ 

">i*:wi " ^ 


VI 


i'.«l- 


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,_f 


w;;-  . - 


;» 


9(tt  Qt  oO  ijew  n tatft  tocr  ai' tl 

Ik.  * t 

SAljc^oq  t»oE  adt  to  eno  otf  XXjUorf*  lcxi)gM  ni«=>r 


..  • .■  ■ -i- 

•a  ciqUao. 


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t^acjtd  a to  ovi^avjroaatq  oa/  eicaX  jj  • 


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7.,  1 '^'  * k .^ii9 

vtoolt^m  toe,  Bisoatbi;i ISjiXq  sir  os  ai  Sd^ifCMS  eti  .xovo^ioM  .oeXx^  . 

''  ' i.^  ' ' ■•^-  ^ 

sii  toi  banl^^  tt  ^^20X  lyl  nortaoxXdt/q  atX  flc^  i^XotaUb^al 


ieXa^EPoe  ^ .g^ojyg  a ^toat  xrl  ,»aw  tl  sfeirra.  iotfi 


t?sa  fZSTB  /Tl  riclflt»  .noit-axanea  tagcuot  ttf  TtXtsltfo  taiw  S4I8 


-OXni  atl  I89i^a  o3  etdbIX&fc  tjOooillitfa  oS  if fvoz.  tisoxt  aosiaar* 


269 


pendence  with  a cynical  turn.  At  Oxford  the  "godly  ministers" 
detected  in  the  book  the  "principles  of  atheism,"  and  on  July  27, 
1658,  the  vice-chancellor.  Dr.  John  Conant,  summoned  the  Oxford 
book-sellers  before  him  and  forbade  them  to  sell  the  book;  but 
according  t^  Wood,  this  only  caused  the  Advice  to  sell  the  better. 
The  sort  of  reputation  Osborn  acquired  is  perhaps  indicated  also  by 
the  dedication  to  him  of  a translation  of  Bernardino  Ochino's 
^ Dialogue  on  Polygamy,  published  in  London,  1657,  a volume  7/hich 
has  sometimes,  apparently  in  error,  been  credited  to  Osborn  himself.^ 
Osborn  was  a distinctly  seventeenth-century  type,  one  of 
the  courtiers  who,  too  emancipated  to  continue  the  tradition  of  the 
great  Elizabethans,  prepared  by  their  disillusionment  and  scepticism  ’ 
for  the  tone  of  court  and  country  during  the  Restoration.  Born  in 
1593,  he  had  spent  his  youth  and  early  manhood  at  court,  as  master 
of  the  horse  to  William  Herbert,  third  earl  of  Pembroke,  and  in  the 
office  of  the  lord  treasurer's  remembrancer.  In  the  great  political 
conflict  his  sympathies  were  with  the  popular  party,  but  he  took  no 
active  part  in  affairs.  His  later  years  were  devoted  primarily  to 
the  education  of  his  son,  whom  the  Advice  was  to  guide  to  success 
in  public  life.  Like  the  pelican,  Osborn  says  in  the  preface  to 
his  son,  he  dissected  himself,  he  "ripped  up  his  own  bowels,"  to 
show  the  defects  of  humanity.  But,  though  the  book  is  a study  in 
frankness,  it  is  in  no  sense  a spiritual  confession;  all  the  revela- 
tions are  merely  to  instruct  an  ingenuous  young  man  in  the  difference 
between  the  exterior  manner  and  the  inner  thought  of  an  accomplished 
man  of  the  world. 


liyg^fj*.^^  Sidney  Lee,^inDictio^  of  Nation^ 


.'Si  ^ . l«c 


= I riiivMii  II  a*s**riJwc)Wia^^ 


9 


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Pi- 


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.JtvXiotyOrf^  i 

' tv. 


370 


Although  there  is  nothing  to  indicate  that  Osborn  had 
read  Sagesse.  hie  purpose  and  temper  had  much  in  common  with 

Pierre  Charron,  whose  volume  had  become  the  handbook  of  the  Bohemian 
libertines  of  Paris.  Charron,  no  more  than  Osborn,  had  intended  his 
work  for  either  Bohemians  or  libertines.  Both  writers  tried  to 
formulate  the  principles  of  a prudent  worldly  wisdom,  the  secrets 
of  success  in  a polite  society,  the  chief  of  which  is  never  to  be 
duped.  The  wise  man  will  avoid  being  a slave  to  his  passions,  but 
he  will  also  free  himself  from  ignorance  and  prejudice.  Charron  was 
therefore  significantly  at  the  same  time  a disciple  of  Du  Vair  and 
Montaigne,  a Stoic  and  a Sceptic.  On  his  title  page  he  inscribed 
two  mottoes:  Paix  et  Peu  and  ne  soav . His  sagesse  was  at  heart 
a scepticism,  ”une  pleine,  entiere,  genereuse  & seigneuriale  libert^ 
d* esprit,"  which  must,  however,  remain  a private  matter,  lest  it 
hinder  one's  fortime  and  advancement. 


"Or  iouyssant  ainsi  le  sage  de  ce  droit  sien  a 
iuger  & examiner  toutes  chose s,  il  aduiendra  souuent 
que  le  iugement  & la  main,  1' esprit  & le  corps  se 
contrediront , qu'il  fera  au  dehors  d'une  fapon  & 
iugera  autrement  au  dedans,  iouera  un  roelle  deuant 
le  monde,  & un  autre  en  son  esprit,  il  le  doit  faire 
ainsi  pour  garder  Justice  par  tout  . . . Il  doit 
faire  & se  porter  au  dehors  pour  la  reuerence  publique 
& n'offenser  personne,  selon  que  la  loy,  la  coustume 
& ceremonie  du  pays  porte  & requiert:  Et  au  dedans 
iuger  au  vray  oe  qui  en  est,  selon  la  raison 
universelle,  selon  laquelle  souuent  il  aduiendra 
qu'il  condamnera  ce  qu'au  dehors  il  fait."^ 


Osborn,  likewise,  wants  his  son  to  preserve  this  lordly  freedom  of 
mind,  but  not  thereby  to  prejudice  his  career.  Writing  in  the  time 
of  the  Commonwealth,  he  declares  that  "it  is  observable  in  the 


^Charron,  Sagesse,  Book  II,  Chap.ii.  e d. Paris (1646) . 


I,- 


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' \ j*  . ■ym'^-..f2  "'.i^ijSL 


271 


ft 

present  humour  that  those  who  carry  an  Impress  of  the  wildest 
errours.  have  a safer  Pass-port  to  travel  by,  and  a nearer  step  to 
Preferment  than  such  as  retain  the  Tenets  our  Fathers  kept  in  gross 
during  the  flames  of  the  ancient  Persecutions.”  In  this  period  of 
confusion,  he  says,  "in  these  Aporetick  times,”  he  is  unable  to 
give  "better  counsel,  than  to  keep  your  compliance  so  loose,  as,  if 
possible,  you  may  fix  it  to  the  best  advantage  of  your  profit  and 
honour.”  He  would,  however,  caution  against  zeal,  which  was  just 
then  in  such  high  estimation;  for,  he  says,  it  is 

”not  likely  to  hold  longer  in  tune,  than  a Harmony 
can  be  made  among  all  Parties,  now  possibly  at  odds, 
or  under  a jealous  aspect:  Therefore  I advise  you  to 
put  no  more  of  it  on,  than  with  decency  you  may 
devest,  in  case  the  fashion  should  alter,  and  the 
rich  die  the  Wars  have  dipped  it  in,  be  rubbed 
off;  since  all  customs  rise  or  fall  proportionable 
to  the  exchange  they  make  for  the  Preferments  in 
the  State;  to  which  in  discretion  you  are  bound 
to  suit  your  Obedience,  though  not  your  Conscience.”^ 

Manners,  good  breeding,  the  art  of  success,  these  are  the 
subjects  of  Osborn's  Advice . And  Osborn  was  not  thinking  of  an 
ideal  world,  but  of  the  court  in  which  he  had  lived.  He  laid  bare 
its  sordid  aspects  without  any  word  of  censure,  merely  appraising 
the  conditions  of  getting  on  in  it.  His  remarks  betray  everywhere 
a cynical  hardness  and  outspoken  selfishness  which  a Sidney  or  a 
Spenser  would  have  considered  the  marks  of  the  lowest  breeding. 
"Gallop  not  through  a Town,  for  fear  of  hurting  your  self  or  others: 
Besides  the  undecency  of  it  . . . Swimming  may  save  a man,  in  case  of 
necessity;  though  it  loseth  many,  when  practised  in  wantonness,  by 
increasing  their  confidence;  Therefore,  for  Pleasure  exceed  not  your 

^Osborn,  Francis,  Y/orks,  8th  ed. , London  (1682).  pp.  87-8. 


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1 LB 


273 

depth;  and  ^ seeking:  to  save  another,  beware  of  drowning  your 
self . " ^ Sometimes  he  spices  an  epigram  with  vulgarity.  "To  make 
love  to  married  women  doth  not  only  multiply  the  Sin,  but  the 
danger  . . . Fly,  with  Joseph,  the  Embraces  of  great  Ladies:  lest 
you  lose  your  liberty,  and  see  your  legs  rot  in  the  stocks  of  the 
Physician."'^  Even  where  he  appears  most  generous,  he  brings  himself 
up  sharply  with  a qualification  dictated  by  prudent  selfishness. 
"Despise  none,"  he  says,  "for  meanness  of  Blood,  yet  do  not 
ordinarily  make  them  your  Companions,  for  debasing  your  own;  unless 
you  find  them  clarified  by  excellent  Parts,  or  gilded  by  Fortune  or 
Power."''  Osborn  studied  the  art  of  living  in  much  the  same  spirit 
as  Machiavelli  studied  politics.  He  was,  indeed,  one  of  the  earliest 
apologists  for  Machiavelli.  In  a brief  Discourse  he  says  that, 
though  Machiavelli  deserves  some  of  the  blame  laid  upon  him,  yet, 

"considering  he  was  not  only  an  Italian  but  a 
Courtier,  few  can  do  less  than  admire  his  bad 
fortune  to  see  one  man  inherit,  in  particular 
the  mass  of  Reproaches  due  to  all  Princes  and 
Statesmen  in  general  ...  A Body  Politick  is 
like  that  of  a Man,  which  when  it  is  altogether, 
shews  outwardly  a beautiful  and  comely  sight;  but 
search  into  the  Entrals  from  whence  the  true 
Nourishment  proceeds,  and  little  is  to  be  found 
but  Blood,  Filth  and  Stench:  The  truth  is, 

Machiave 1 is  observed  to  have  raked  deeper  in  this, 
than  his  Predecessors,  which  makes  him  smell,  as  he 
doth,  in  the  nostrils  of  the  nice  and  ignorant; 
whereas  those  of  more  Prudence  and  Experience,  know 
it  is  the  most  natural  savour  of  the  Court. 

Like  the  Florentine,  Osborn  had  more  respect  for  facts  than  for 
Ideals;  and  his  acquaintance  with  the  motives  of  men  had  blunted  his 


ilbid.  p.  12. 
gfbid.  24. 

bid:  fe.^291,  301-3. 


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273 


moral  sense. 

No  doubt  the  young  bloods  at  Oxford  read  with  special 
interest  Osborn's  outspoken  and  vulgar  cynicism  regarding  women  and 
marriage.  Osborn  was  here  the  inheritor  of  the  libertine  thought 
of  the  Renaissance,  the  naturalism  of  Montaigne  and  of  Donne's  early 
verse.  He,  also,  believed  that  marriage  is  an  unnatural  institution, 
imposed  only  by  custom,  and  enforced  by  the  false  sanctimoniousness 
of  the  church. 


"Love . like  a Burning-glass,  contracts  the  dilated 
lines  of  Lust,  and  fixeth  them  upon  one  object; 
bestowed  by  our  fellow  Creatures,  (the  exacter 
Observers  of  the  Dictates  of  Nature)  promiscuously, 
without  partiality  in  affection,  on  every  distinct 
Female  of  their  respective  snecies:  whereas  Man, 
being  restrained  to  a particular  Choice,  by  the 
severity  of  Law,  Custom  and  his  own  more  stupendous 
Folly  ...  is  hurried  away  with  the  first  apparition 
of  an  imaginary  Beauty  ...  It  may  be  strongly  pre- 
sumed, that  the  hand  of  Policy  (which  first  or  last 
brings  all  things,  expedient  to  humane  society, 
under  the  imperious  notion  of  Religion)  hung  this 
padlock  upon  the  liberty  of  men,  and  after  Custom 
had  lost  the  Key,  the  Church,  according  to  her 
wonted  Subtilty,  took  upon  her  to  protect  it; 
delivering  in  her  Charge  to  the  people,  that  single 
wedlock  was  by  divine  right,  making  the  contrary, 
in  diverse  places.  Death,  and  where  she  proceeded 
with  the  greatest  moderation,  Excommunication:  con- 
demning thereby  (besides  four  fifths  parts  of  the 
world)  the  holy  Patriarchs , who  among  their  so 
frequent  Dialogues  held  with  their  Maker,  were 
never  reproved  for  multiplying  Wives  and  Concubines: 
reckoned  to  David  as  a Blessing,  and  to  Solomon 
for  a mark  of  Magnificence."^ 


As  to  religion,  Osborn's  advice  is  ambiguous;  for  the 
future  of  religious  parties  in  England  was  not  entirely  clear,  and 
Osborn  was  in  religious  matters  strictly  opportunist.  He  desired  his 
son  above  all  things  to  be  prudent.  An  outward  conformity  he  com- 


1 

Ibid.  pp.  27-32.  Cf.  above.  Chapter  III,  pp.  111-ff. 


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374 


mended,  as  we  have  seen.  When  travelling  abroad,  he  says,  ’’let  not 
the  Irreligion  of  any  Place  breed  in  you  a neglect  of  Divine  Duties 
But  he  would  not  have  his  son  take  his  religious  tenets  too 
seriously,  and  defend  them  against  all  contenders. 


”Shun  all  Disputes. " he  advises,  ’’but  concerning 
Religion  especially;  because  that  which  commands  in 
chief,  though  false  and  erroneous,  will,  like  a 
Cock  on's  own  dunghill,  line  her  Arguments  with 
force,  and  drive  the  Stranger  out  of  the  Pit  with 
insignificant  clamours.  All  Opinions,  not  made 
natural  by  complexion,  or  imperious  Education, 
being  equally  ridiculous  to  those  of  contrary  Tenets." 


Osborn  had  no  desire  that  his  son  should  entertain  ambitions  of  an 
intellectual  career;  he  advised  taking  truth,  like  women,  lightly. 
The  wisdom  of  a courtier  consists  in  a compliance  with  whatever 
element  is  in  power,  in  being  a hanger-on  rather  than  a leader. 
Therefore  make  no  enemies  who  can  injure  you;  conciliate  any  one  who 
can  aid  you;  make  such  profitable  alliances  as  you  can,  and  have  the 
prudence  to  keep  your  own  opinions  to  yourself. 


"Denounce  no  enmity  against  the  Clergy.  ’*  he 
says,  "for  supported  by  Prayers  or  Policy,  they 
cannot  long  want  an  opportunity  to  revenge  themselves. 
Neither  oppose  any  Religion  you  find  established,  how 
ridiculous  soever  you  apprehend  it;  For  though  like 
Da-vid.  you  may  bring  unavoidable  Arguments  to  stagger 
a popular  error.  None  but  the  monsters  own  Sword, 
can  cut  off  the  head  of  one  universally  received. 


Osborn  was  himself  a man  of  the  enlightenment,  a rationalist.  "In 
this  wilderness  of  contention,"  he  says,  "we  have  no  better  guide 
to  follow  than  Reason,  found  the  same  for  many  thousands  of  years, 
though  Belief  hath  been  observed  to  vary  every  Age."  He  thought  the 


ilbid.  pp.  45-6. 
‘^Ibid.  pp.  97-8. 


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.q{J* 
,8-^  ,qq 


275 

Socinians  were  "the  most  Chymical  and  Rational  part  of  our  many 
Divisions."  But  these  were  mental  reservations  only;  prudence 
dictates  an  outward  agreement  with  whatever  faction  happens  to  be 
in  authority.  "For  he  that  herds  with  the  Congregation,  though  in 
an  Errour,  hath  Obedience  to  stand  by  him,  whereas  a Truth  in  the 
other  may  be  rendred  more  peccant  through  a solitary  obstinacy. 

Such  was  Osborn,  author  of  one  of  the  three  most  popular 
boohs  of  the  Restoration.  To  readers  who  might  pick  up  his  Advice, 
without  considering  its  relation  to  its  age,  this  popularity  would 
be  difficult  to  comprehend.  The  petty  time-serving  of  Osborn  is 
too  unpleasantly  obvious;  he  appears  a man  without  either  intellec- 
tual or  moral  character.  He  sneers  at  the  world,  but  yields  to  it 
weakly  and  hypocritically,  and  is  chiefly  concerned  with  getting 
himself  on  in  it.  He  is  a disillusioned  man,  grasping  at  the  satis- 
faction of  wordly  success.  But  his  popularity  is  to  be  explained  by 
this  very  fact,  that  in  his  time  many  young  men  were  being  disil- 
lusioned in  the  same  manner  as  Osborn,  that  they  cultivated  disil- 
lusionment, but  yet  desired  to  be  well-manner  gentlemen,  competent 
to  make  their  way  in  a sophisticated  society.  He  appealed  to  the 
new  courtier  type  of  the  seventeenth  century,  who  had  laid  aside 
Plato,  Plutarch,  Aristotle  and  Seneca,  for  Montaigne,  Lucretius  and 
the  ancient  and  modern  satirists.  Osborn  was  not  great  enough  to 
be  original;  he  represents  a large  class  who  did  not  take  philosophy 
very  seriously,  and  whose  scepticism  is  manifested  chiefly  in  their 
cynical  attitude  towards  ideals  of  morality  and  conduct.  Osborn  is 
of  unique  value  to  the  student  of  seventeenth  century  thought  and 

^Ibid.  pp.  92,  85,  83. 


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V 


276 


manners  precisely  because  he  reflects  so  well  the  tone  of  the  court 
under  the  first  Stuarts,  in  which  men  were  rapidly  emancipated  from 
everything  but  wit,  adaptable  manners,  and  a skill  in  turning  to 

one's  own  account  the  weaknesses  of  others. 

These  brief  studies  of  Osborn  and  other  men  representative 

of  seventeenth  century  thought  serve  to  emphasize  one  of  the  most 
important  distinctions  between  the  seventeenth  and  the  sixteenth 
centuries:  the  scepticism  which  in  the  sixteenth  century  had  been 
cultivated  only  by  groups  or  almost  isolated  individuals,  and  at 
the  danger  of  social  ostracism,  even  of  death,  such  scepticism  was 
in  the  seventeenth  century  widely  diffused  in  English  society.  The 
Latitudinarians  were  sufficiently  sceptical  to  deny  the  possibility 
of  intellectual  unity  in  the  Church.  In  Thoms  Bro’wne,  a man  bred 
in  the  scientific  thought  of  the  late  Renaissance,  scepticism 
became  for  the  moment  all  powerful  and  reduced  to  ruins  the  con- 
structions of  presumptuous  reason.  Francis  Osborn,  the  new  type 
of  courtly  gentleman,  was  more  concerned  with  manners  than  with 
either  intellect  or  character;  but  scepticism  is  everywhere  in 
solution  in  his  work,  and,  although  like  a gentleman  he  disdained 
to  be  either  a scholar  or  a philosopher,  he  was  indubitably  of  the 
tribe  of  Montaigne.  Thus  in  various  ways,  and  colored  by  various 
personalities,  the  critical  and  sceptical  temper  of  the  century  was 
manifested.  Except  for  the  principle  of  toleration,  perhaps,  nothing 
new,  nothing  of  any  philosophical  value  was  added  by  the  men  we 
have  considered  to  the  sceptical  thought  of  the  Renaissance;  but 
they  show  how  rapidly  and  how  completely  the  disintegrating  forces 
of  Renaissance  thought  had  permeated  the  society  of  the  seventeenth 
cenxury  and  affected  its  intellectual  and  moral  tone. 




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T3I 


277 


Numerous  other  names  might  of  course  have  been  included 
in  this  chapter;  but  the  aim  has  not  been  completeness,  but  a 
selection  of  representative  men,  especially  such  as  were  influential 
after  their  own  day.  I have  tried  to  present,  not  only  the  scep- 
tical element  in  early  seventeenth  century  thought,  but  also  some 
suggestions  as  to  the  continuity  of  this  element  from  the  Renaissancej 
to  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century.  With  this  general  account  as 
a background,  I shall  give  more  special  treatment  to  two  important 
developments  from  Renaissance  scepticism:  the  rise  of  Deism  and  the 
sceptical  thought  of  some  of  the  English  religious  poets. 


1 


1 

P’S 


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.a^5oq  oaO£>.'Xr9^  rf•lX:J^rt^  ciU-  ^o  saioe  lo.  ^filp^udrfi' 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 


SCEPTICISM  AND  THE  ORIGINS  OF  DEISM 


I.  Two  Tendencies  in  Deism. - 
among  Renaissance  Sceptics. - 
Scepticism. 


II.  The  Development  of  Deism 

III.  Deism  Dissolved  in  Complete 


The  well-known  story  related  by  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury, 
that  he  printed  his  book  De  Veritate  only  after  receiving  a sign 
from  heaven,  may  perhaps  be  taken  also  symbolically,  as  signifying 
that  he  felt  the  time  was  ripe  for  printed  circulation  of  ideas 
which,  as  he  himself  said,  were  so  "different  from  any  thing  which 
had  been  written  heretofore."  Though  his  book  had  received  the  com- 
mendation of  so  great  a man  as  Grotius, "yet  as  I knew  it  would  meet 
with  much  opposition,  I did  consider  whether  it  was  not  better  for 
me  a while  to  suppress  it."^  The  sign,  however,  was  vouchsafed  him, 
and  for  the  first  time,  an  avowed  Deist ic  treatise  appeared  in  print. 

But  though  Herbert  escaped  the  persecution  which  his  book 
undoubtedly  would  have  drawn  upon  him  a quarter  or  half  a century 
earlier,  the  time  proved  not  yet  ripe  for  any  widespread  Deistic 
movement  in  England.  The  Arianism  of  the  sixteenth  century  had  done 
much  to  prepare  for  it,  but  we  must  distinguish  between  this 
Arianism,  which  admitted  the  Bible  as  inspired  revelation,  and 


Deism,  which  based  religion  immediately  on  the  reason  of  man, 


The 


^Th^  Autobio^ranhy  of  Edwa^  Lord  |er^  of  Cher^,  ed.  Lee, 
Sidney,  wnd  ed. , London  (n.d.).  p.  1-3  . 

^The  Arianism  of  the  sixteenth  century  has  been  discussed  above, 
Chapter  II.  


I 


V 


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’ 'JxwhsamMassmf-  > r '^a  v •.  Si 


379 


real  predecessors  of  Herbert  we  shall  find  on  the  Continent,  among 
the  obscure,  suppressed  developments  of  the  Renaissance.  But  Deism 
as  a force  in  English  thought  belongs  to  the  later  seventeenth  and 
earlier  eighteenth  centuries.  The  discussion  of  it  and  its 
Renaissance  origins  has  therefore  been  postponed  to  this  latter  part 

of  our  study. 


Two  Tendencies  in  Deism 

In  a study  of  the  connection  between  scepticism  and  the 
orisrin  of  the  Deistic  movement,  one  may  consider  Deism  in  two 
aspects.  In  the  first  place.  Deism  involved  a criticism  of  the 
special  beliefs  of  every  religious  faith,  whether  Christianity  or 
Judaism  or  Mohammedanism.  The  Deists  were  adepts,  considering  the 
state  of  scholarship  of  that  time,  in  higher  criticism.  They  aimed 
to  destroy  what  they  thought  the  falsifications  of  essential 
religion.  But  though  they  showed  themselves  sceptical  towards  the 
historical  religions,  they  had  at  first  also  a different  aim  very 
closely  at  heart,  to  purify  universal  religion  from  the  corruptions 
of  organizations  and  priesthoods.  True  religion,  they  all  held,  is 
natural  religion,  universally  revealed  to  all  men  and  sufficienx  unt 
them  for  salvation.  Religion  was  in  this  way  based  on  universal 
reason,  and  we  may  therefore  characterize  Deism  as  a religious 
rationalism. 

Scepticism  regarding  the  peculiar  tenets  of  Christianity 
and  a rationalistic  affirmation  of  a universal  religion  are  observ- 


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280 

able  already  in  the  so-called  founder  of  English  Deism,  Lord  Herbert 
of  Cherbury,  though  his  criticism  of  Christianity  was  rather 
unmistakably  implied  than  definitely  expressed.  In  his  De_  Veritate . 
published  in  Paris,  1624,  a remarkable  critique  of  the  method  of 
knowledge  leads  to  a statement  of  five  common  notions,  not itiae 
c ommune s . which  constitute  a criterion  of  truth  in  religion.^  These 
five  propositions,  which  he  considered  undeniable,  which  all  mankind 
must  needs  acknowledge  by  unaided  reason,  were: 

1.  That  there  is  one  supreme  God. 

2.  That  he  ought  to  be  worshipped. 

3.  That  virtue  and  piety  are  the  chief  parts  of  divine  worship. 

4.  That  we  ought  to  be  sorry  for  our  sins  and  repent  of  them. 

5.  That  Divine  Goodness  dispenses  rewards  and  punishments 
both  in  this  life  and  after  it.^ 

The  D£  Veritate  established  these  propositions  on  a 
philosophical  basis;  the  De_  Religione  Gent ilium,  published  in 
Amsterdam,  1663,  after  Herbert's  death,  attempts  to  show  that  they 
were  present  in  the  pagan  religions  of  Greece  and  Rome,  but  that 
they  had  been  obscured  by  the  superstitions  fostered  by  the  priest- 
hood. Herbert  here  often  betrays  an  animus  against  the  clerical 
profession  which  must  have  had  a nearer  object  than  the  Greek  and 
Roman  priests  of  whom  he  is  apparently  speaking. 

"When  the  Heathens. " he  says,  "had  receiv'd 
the  Notion  of  the  Attributes  of  the  Sup re am  GOD 
mention'd  before,  there  sprung  up  a Race  of  Crafty 
Priests . who  not  thinking  it  sufficient  there 


^Herbert,  De  Veritate.  London  (1645).  p.  222:  "Hae  autem  sunt 
omnino  Notitiae  Communes,  ex  quibus  vera  Ecclesia  Catholioa  sive 
universalis  constat." 

^Ibid.  208-222. 


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281 


should  be  but  one  GOD  in  all  this  Universe , judg'd 
it  would  conduce  much  to  their  Interest . to  join 
and  associate  some  others  to  this  Sup re am  Deity; 
and  that  it  would  be  no  obstacle,  but  that  the 
one  Most  Good  and  Great  GOD  should  have  the  Pre- 
eminence over  all  others.  Their  Design  of 
Introducing  other  Gods . drove  farther:  they 
thought  they  could  embarass  the  Minds  of  the  People 
more  with  the  Notion  of  Pl\irality  of  Deities . than 
by  the  Worship  of  One  only,  tho'  never  so  Great ; 
especially  after  they  had  invented  and  dispersed 
a different  way  of  Worship  for  each  of  them.  They 
also  expected  to  reap  more  Profit,  and  have  larger 
Stipends  from  the  various  Rites.  Ceremonies  and 
Sacred  Mysteries  which  they  contriv'd  and  divulg'd 
than  if  Men  of  all  Ages  should  continue  to  perform 
the  same  Duties  of  Piety  and  Virtue . 


But,  though  obscured,  these  five  principles  have  remained  a part  of 
all  religions,  and  we  must  suppose  that  Herbert  considered  them  the 
only  true  tenets  in  Christianity  as  well  as  in  other  cults. 
Certainly  there  is  nothing  in  his  language  to  prevent  this 
application.  For,  he  says, 

"tho'  Thousands  of  Errors  should  be  heaped  upon  their 
Basis;  the  Reason  of  Divine  Worship  is  so  supported 
by  these  five  Columns  joined  together,  that  no 
Height  whatever  that  is  built  upon  them,  will  be 
able  to  damage  or  endanger  the  Building.  These 
therefore  are  those  Firmaments  of  Universal  Divine 
Providence  and  pure  Religion,  which  never  were  or 
ever  can  be  concealed  from  any  Age  or  Country; 
therefore  whatever  was  Promulgated  by  the  Priest 
formerly  in  unintelligible  Words,  mysterious  Fables, 
fictitious  Revelations,  and  ambiguous  Rites  and 
Cerenionies,  imposed  upon  the  credulous  People  and 
had  but  a sandy  Foundation.  The  greatest  Men  in 
all  Parts  of  the  World  could  never  add  any  thing 
to  these  five  Articles,  which  could  more  promote 
that  true  Virtue,  (which  makes  Men  like  God  and 
renders  them  fit  for  his  Society)  or  Piety,  Purity 
and  Sanctity  of  Life."2 


^Herbert,  The  Antient  Religion  of  the  Gentiles.  English  translation, 
London  (l?0^  p.  271. 

Ibid.  pp.  354-5.  


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383 


Herbert  therefore  presents  both  the  sceptical  and  the 
rationalistic  aspects  of  Deism.  He  also  shared  the  aim  which,  as  we 
shall  see,  motivated  the  earlier  Deists  before  him,  of  rescuing  true 
religion  from  the  scepticism  which  did  not  distinguish  between 
essentials  and  superstitions.  Having  discussed  the  harmful  effects 
of  the  additions  of  the  priests  to  the  five  fundamental  propositions, 
he  says:  "But  what  is  still  worse,  by  this  Means  the  Parts  of  true 

Religion  being;  abdicated  or  rejected.  Men  for  the  most  part  became 
Atheists,  and  Contemners  of  Divine  Justice  and  Providence;  or  if 
they  did  embrace  the  whole  of  Religion  with  those  Superstitions 
which  attended  it,  they  imposed  upon  themselves  and  that  internal 
Court  within  them,  and  deserted  Right  Reason,  which  is  the  best 
Rule  of  Life."l  Herbert  tried  to  avoid  the  errors  in  each  direction 
and  restore  to  religion  the  integrity  and  purity  of  its  pristine 
state . 

Deism,  which  to  its  contemporary  opponents  seemed  itself 
to  be  the  essence  of  scepticism,  was  therefore  yet  an  attempt  to 
check  extreme  scepticism,  and  its  origin  must  be  sought  in  connecticn 
with  the  sceptical  thought  of  the  later  Middle  Ages  and  Renaissance. 
This  origin,  I believe,  will  contribute  to  the  explanation  of  the 
peculiar  nature  of  Deism,  its  general  tendency,  and  its  dissolution 
in  the  eighteenth  century.^ 

^Ibid.  p.  355. 

^Inasmuch  as  the  existence  of  Deists  in  the  sixteenth  century  has 
been  well  kncwn  ever  since  Bayle  and  Leland,  it  seems  strange  that  so 
little  has  been  said  about  the  predecessors  of  Lord  Herbert  of 
Cherbury.  H3ffding,  in  his  History  of  Modern  Philosophy.  I,  59-68, 
discusses  Bodin  as  well  as  Herbert,  but  does  not  notice  any  earlier 
development.  Dilthey,  in  his  We Itanschauung  imd  Analyse  des  Menschen 
seit  Renaissance  \ind  Ref ormatioiTi  Leipzig  (1914),  pp. 45-ff. , discusses 
a somewhat  wider  conception  which  he  calls  "der  religios  universal- 
istischen  Theismus,"  that  is,  "die  Uberzeugung,  lass  die  Got the  it  in 


‘ailfr  Eii\  itod  «?tfeuon<y  JT5.j-3:aiH  i*. 


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II 


283 

The  Development  of  Deism  among  Renaissance  Sceptics 

Already  in  the  thirteenth  century,  with  the  new  contact 
with  Mohammedanism  and  Arabian  culture,  a spirit  of  tolerance 
towards  non-Christian  religions  began  to  manifest  itself.  As  we 
have  seen, ^Crispin  and  Abelard  wrote  dialogues  in  which  the  various 
religions  were  represented  fairly  and  in  a conciliatory  spirit,  even 
though  the  intention  of  the  compositions  was  manifestly  Christian, 

We  have  seen  also  that  Aquinas  himself  wrote  a treatise  on  religion 
in  the  light  of  reason,  expressly  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  did 

p 

not  admit,  to  begin  with,  the  truth  of  Christian  revelation.  Out 
of  the  problem  of  religious  truth  which  was  thus  raised  in  a new 
form  for  Christian  Europe  in  the  thirteenth  century,  developed  a 
new  comparative  study  of  religions,  for  which  Christianity,  Judaism 
and  Mohammedanism  were  equally  divine  in  what  they  had  in  common,  and 
equally  false  in  their  peculiarities.  The  gradual  broadening  of 
sympathy  was  most  strikingly  shown  in  the  change  which  came  over  the 
celebrated  Tale  of  the  Three  Rings.  In  the  Renaissance  the  critical 
discussion  of  Christian  doctrines  was  often  hidden  in  ambiguous 
dialogues,  in  which  the  characters  were  allowed  full  freedom  of 


den  verschiedenen  Religionen  und  Philosophen  gleichesweise  wirksam 
gewesen  sei  und  noch  heute  wirke.”  He  names  Erasmus  and  Reuchlin 
among  the  adherents  of  this  Theism.  I think  the  Deists  must  be  dis- 
tinguished from  these  milder  "Theists”  as  more  sceptical  in  their 
rejection  of  the  peculiar  tenets  of  Christianity,  Islamism,  or  any 
other  historical  religion,  and  also  as  more  rationalistic,  in  their 
insistence  on  the  universal  revelation  and  self-evident  truth  of 
natural  religion. 

pin  Chapter  I,  pp.  45-ff. 

^See  above,  p.  39. 


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47 


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4i-  ■iiii.iiwijwy 


.♦ 


284 

thought  and  sometimes  licence  of  expression.  But  although  these 
attacks  on  the  Bible  or  the  church  resorted  to  ridicule  or  even 
blasphemy,  they  were  directed  only  against  what  their  authors  con- 
sidered the  corruptions  of  Christianity  and  the  other  creeds. 

Religion  in  its  pure  and  primitive  and  universal  form,  as  it  is 
constantly  being  revealed  to  the  universal  reason  of  mankind  in  all 
ages  and  lands,  such  religion  the  sceptical  treatises  of  the 
Renaissance  sought  to  affirm.  Their  criticism  of  Christianity  was 
intended  to  help  purify  it  into  this  universal  and  rational  religion. 

In  the  enlightenment  of  the  earlier  Renaissance,  before  the 
fierce  conflicts  of  the  Reformation  brought  more  rigid  discipline 
into  intellectual  and  ecclesiastical  ranks,  there  was  observable  a 
tolerant  and  liberal  spirit  among  intelligent  men.  In  England  Sir 
Thomas  More  championed  freedom  and  sweetness  and  light,  and  in  his 
island  of  Utopia  the  religion  of  ”the  most  and  wisest  part"  of  the 
people  was  apparently  a form  of  Deism.  They  believed,  he  said  "that 
there  is  a certayne  godlie  powre  unknowen,  everlastings,  incompre- 
hensible, inexplicable,  farre  above  the  capacitie  and  retohe  of  mans 
Witte,  dispersed  throughoute  all  the  worlde,  not  in  bignes,  but  in 
vertue  and  power.  Him  they  call  the  father  of  al.  To  him  alone  they 
attribute  the  beginninges,  the  encreasinges,  the  procedinges,  the 
chaunges  and  the  endes  of  al  thinges."^  Though  the  tolerance  of  the 
island  permitted  a great  variety  of  religious  beliefs  to  spring  up, 
yet,  "they  all  begyn  by  litle  and  litle  to  forsake  and  fall  from  this 
varietie  of  superstitions,  and  to  agre  togethers  in  that  religion 
whiche  seme the  by  reason  to  passe  and  excell  the  residewe."^  In  the 

pMore,  Utopia,  ed.  Lumby,  Cambridge  (1913) . p.  144. 

Ibid,  p.  i44. — =--===========^^ 


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285 


imaginary  dialogue  between  Lupset  and  Cardinal  Pole,  discussed  in 
an  earlier  chapter,^  Thomas  Starkey,  a contemporary  of  More,  makes 
the  learned  and  pious  Lupset  present  a Deistio  conception  of 
religion  as  based  explicitly  on  the  Stoic  notion  of  the  Law  of 

Nature . 

win  so  much  ” Lupset  is  made  to  say,  "that  » 

Sarasvn  toke  and  Lre,  so  long  as  they  obserue  theyr 
oyuyle  ordynance  and  stai;utys,  deuysyd  by  - 

fatherys  in  euery  sects,  dyrectyng  them  to  the  law  o 
nature-  so  long,  I say,  ther  be  men  wych  ernystely 
affyrme  them  tf  lyue  wel,  and  euery  one  in 
to  le  sauyd,  and  non  to  perysch  utturly; 
infynyte  ^dnes  of  God  hathe  no  les  made  them  aftur 
hys  O'wne  ymage  and  forme,  then  he 
cLystun  manT  and  the  most  parte  of 

oerauentur  hard  of  the  law  of  Chryst.  Wherfor,  so 
lonHf  tS^y  lyue  aftur  the  law  of  nature,  obseruyng 
also  theyr  oyuyle  ordynance,  as  mean 
to  the  end  o"f"  the  same,  they  sohal  not  be  damnyd. 

Thys  I haue  hard  the  opynyon  of  grete  wyse  men,  wel 
■Donderyno-  the  gudnes  of  God  and  of  nature;  but 
whStherSyrbe  so  or  not,  let  us,  aftur  the  mynd 
of  Sayn  Poule,  leue  thys  to  the  secrete  3ugement 
of  God. "3 

But  Deistical  tendencies  are  not  Deism,  though  they  helped 
to  prepare  for  it.  For  its  origin  we  must  look  to  Italy,  where  the 
court  of  Frederick  II  had  early  fostered  liberalism  and  unbelief, 
where  the  Tale  of  the  Three  Rings  had  undoubtedly  received  its 
Deistio  transformation,  and  where  Pomponatius  soon  after  1500  oast 
the  horoscope  of  Christianity  and  presaged  its  early  decline  and 
dissolution.®  From  Italy  in  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century 
came  the  Immensely  influential  Sooinians,  whose  Unitarian  leanings 
for  a century  and  a half  troubled  the  orthodox  of  northern  Europe. 
And  from  Italy,  according  to  the  contemporary  Swiss,  Vlret,  came  a 

^ t . T , London  (1878)  . pp.  (1810)  pp.  300-ff. 

Douglas,  A. H. , Pietro  Pomponaz.zl,  Cambridge  PP  — 


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5 


sect  which  applied  to  themselves  the  new  name  of  ’’Deists.” 


286 


’’The  name  of  Deists,”  says  the  first  English 
historian  of  the  movement,  ”as  applied  to  those 
who  are  no  friends  to  revealed  religion,  is 
have  been  first  assumed  about  the  middle  ox  the 
sixteenth  century,  by  some  Gentlemen  in  Erangg.  and 
Italv.  who  were  willing  to  cover  their  opposition 
to  the  Christian  revelation  by  a more  honourable 
name  than  that  of  Atheists.  One  of  the  first 
authors,  as  far  as  I can  find,  that  makes  express 
mention  of  them  is  Viret,  a divine  of 
amons  the  first  Reformers;  who  in  the  epistle  dedica 
torv  prefixed  to  the  second  tome  of  his  Instruction 
Chre'tienne,  which  was  published  in  1563,  speaks  of 
some  persons  in  that  time  who  called  themselves  by 
a new  name,  that  of  Deists.  These,  he  tells  us, 
professed  to  believe  a God,  but  shewed  no  regard 
to  Jesus  Christ,  and  considered  the  doctrine  of 
the  apostles  and  evangelists  as  fables  and  dre^s. 

He  adds,  that  they  laugh'd  at  all  religion,  notwith- 
standing they  conformed  themselves,  with  regard  to 
the  outward  appearance,  to  the  religion  Ox  those 
with  whom  they  were  obliged  to  live,  or  whom  they 
were  desirous  of  pleasing,  or  whom  they  feared. 

Some  of  them,  as  he  observes,  professed  to  believe 
the  immortality  of  the  soul;  others  were  of  the 
Epicurean  opinion  in  this  point,  as  well  as  about 
the  providence  of  God  with  respect  to  mankind,  as 
if  he  did  not  concern  himself  in  the  government 
of  human  affairs.  He  adds,  that  many  among  them 
set  up  for  learning  and  philosophy,  and  were  looked 
upon  to  be  persons  of  an  acute  and  subtil  genius; 
and  that  not  content  to  perish  alone  in  their 
error,  they  took  pains  to  spread  the  poison,  and 
to  infect  and  corrupt  others  ^y  their  impious 
discourses  and  bad  examples." 


Although  the  widespread  Arianism  in  Europe  in  the 
sixteenth  century  must  often  have  been  in  fact  Deistic,  yet  it  is  of 
importance  that  those  who  called  themselves  Deists  were  seexing 
religion  in  its  most  universal  form  and  distinguished  themselves  irom 


Heland,  John,  A Vie®  of  m 5ei|ii2y. 

I,  3-5.  Leland  gives  Bayle's  dictionary  as  l^jf^juthorlty  for  the 

account  in  this  paragraph.  See  Dictionaip  Historiqge. g — , 

5th  ed.,  Amsterdam  (1740).  IV,  453.  Sub  Viret,  note  D. 


Otf  ifo  el  l>dla»vei  ot  itnaiil  on  atjB^orfw  > \ 

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Y’*d7  (p<7Ur^  to  aooxisajb  a’' 

av?-Uao  0;  t^QrttO'tq  ^aftrvxaodo  ori  oa  ,Brad7  to  ^ 


287 


Christians.  Viret  has  left  us  an  account  of  them  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  opposition.  But  we  have  other  more  sympathetic 
contemporary  accounts  of  the  temper  and  doctrines  of  the  sixteenth 
century  Deists,  in  the  famous  dialogue  by  Jean  Bodin  and  in  a 

hitherto  neglected  anonymous  treatise. 

Bodin’ s Heptanlomeres  has  been  discussed  by  several  writers 

in  the  last  century,  and  its  contents  are  well  kno’wn.  The  sev^n 

characters  of  the  dialogue  represent  seven  distinct  types  of 

religious  thought  known  to  Bodin;  Roman  Catholicism,  Zwinglianism, 

Lutheranism,  Mohammedanism,  Islamisra,  Deism  and  sceptical  naturalism. 

The  examination  of  the  doctrines  of  Christianity  from  various  points 

of  view  is  free  and  even  at  times  irreverent,  exempting  nothing  from 

argument  or  ridicule.  At  the  conclusion  every  disputant  leaves  with 

his  ideas  unchanged,  and  the  author  of  the  dialogue  expresses  no 

preference  for  the  opinions  of  any  one  of  his  characters.  Yet  it 

seems  clear,  both  from  the  conduct  and  spirit  of  the  discussion,  as 

well  as  from  a comparison  with  Bodin' s other  works,  that  the  Deist 

2 

comes  nearer  than  any  other  to  the  real  opinions  of  the  author. 
However  that  may  be,  the  Deist,  though  he  is  not  so  called,  is  here 
a Renaissance  type  drawn  by  a contemporary.  He  contends  for  natural 
religion.  "Si  la  veritable  religion  est  la  nature  lie,"  he  says, 
"laquelle  se  fait  assez  connattre  d'elle-meme,  qu'est-il  be so in  de 
Jupiter,  de  Christ,  de  Mahom.et,  et  de  se  feindre  des  dieux  qui  ont 
e'^te  mortels  comme  nous?"^  His  ideas  are  thus  summarized  by 


^It  was  edited  from  manuscript  by  G.E.Guhrauer,  Da^  Hep^^plome^^ 
ides  Jean  Bodin  Berlin  (1841).  See  also  Baudrillart,  Henri, J. Bo din 

ISS'd'ai'r'Ttfeisinus  des  16.  Jahrhunderts,  in  Hlstorisohe  Zeitsohrift, 
Ivols.  113-114;  Hjffding,  op.  oit.  I,  59-63.^ 

Hart . op.  cit.  p.300. 


'Ibid.  P.200. 


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288 


r 


Baudrillart : 


”Le  salut  de  tous  ceux  qui  ont  ^cru  en  un  Dieu 
unique,  spirituel,  qui  I'ont  adore  en  esprit  et 
en  v^rite,  qui  ont  v^cu  conformement  a la  morale 
naturelle,  laquelle  enseigne  le  bien  et  la  justice, 
le  salut  et  la  beatitude  de  ces  hommes,  qu'ils 
soient  d'ailleurs  des  sages  de  I'antiquit^,  ou 
des  patriarches  de  la  Bible,  ou  des  sectateurs 
des  diverses  religic;ns,  voila  la  these  favorite 
de  Toralba;  il  aime  a y revenir,  b,  s'y  4tendre 
avec  un  accent  de  conviction."^ 


More  conclusive  than  Bodin’ s dialogue  is  a treatise 

published  in  1836  from  a sixteenth  century  manuscript,  and  since 

2 

neglected  and  apparently  forgotten.  The  complexion  of  this 
anonymous  work  is  indicated  somewhat  by  the  fact  that  in  the  same 
manuscript  with  it  was  a copy  of  the  Liber  de  Tribus  Impost or ibus. 
It  consists  of  four  parts,  of  which  the  first,  third  and  fourth  are 
a criticism  of  Christian  doctrines  and  Biblical  history.  The 
second  part,  under  the  caption  Vera,  divina.  antiquissima  et 
perfectissima  doctrina  de  Deo  et  voluntate  eius.  is  a systematic 
statement  of  the  Deist ic  creed.  The  first  paragraph,  with  its 
definition  of  God  as  Creator  or  First  Cause,  and  its  somewhat 
utilitarian  estimate  of  the  value  of  God  for  man,  gives  us  at  once 
the  atmosphere  of  the  later  period  of  the  enlightenment; 

"Cum  coelum,  maximum  et  splendidissimum  hoc  opus, 
contemplamur , praeterea  solem,  limam  et  Stellas,  quae 
in  coelo  sunt,  et  conside ramus,  quam  pulcherrimo, 
certisBimo  et  constanti  ordine  et  motu  moveantur: 
oportet  nos  fateri,  esse  aliquid  et  quidem  optimum. 


^Ibid.  p.  212. 

^Origo  et  fundament a religionie  Christ ianae . ed.  Gfrorer,  August. 
Zeitschrift  fur  die  historische  Theologie . Leipzig  (1836) . 

VI,  180-258.  I am  indebted  to  Dr.  Joseph  W.  Swain  for  calling 
ray  attention  to  this  treatise. 


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289 


potent issimura  et  sapientissimum,  quod  tanta  et  tam 
splendida  opera  oondidit,  eaque  in  tair.  pulcherrimo, 
certo  et  constant!  ordine  et  motu  conservat,  id 
quod  Deum  appellamus. 

"Deinde  cum  consideramus,  ad  cuius  utilitatem 
et  usum  mundus  et  quaecunque  sunt  in  mundo  condita  ^ 

Sint,  reperimus,  propter  hominem  omnia  condita  esse, 
etc.  ^ 

Such  a God  is  knowable  by  unaided  reason;  all  his  essential 
attributes  are  demonstrable. 

”11  docet  nos  ratio,”  so  the  author  summ^izes 
his  own  argument,  ”Deum  esse  essentiam  infinitam, 
aeternam,  optimam,*  potentissimam,  sapientissim^  et 
iustissimam,  quae  non  tantum  omnia  creavit,  sed 
eadem  etiam  nunc  sustentat,  regit  et  conservat, 
atque  adeo  etiam  cogitationes  omnium  hominum 
novit,  qui  bona  et  iusta  araat  et  praemiis  ornat, 
iniusta  vero  aversatur  et  punit.” 

As  the  attributes  of  God  are  discoverable  in  nature,  so  the  moral 
law  is  identical  with  the  universal  and  rational  Law  of  Nature,  the 
Stoic  conception  which  exercised  such  a profound  and  powerful 
influence  on  Renaissance  thought.  ”Nos  natura  et  rati.q  docet,  quid 
et  qualis  sit  Deus,  et  quae  sit  eius  voluntas,  item  quid  sit  iustum, 
quid  iniustum,  quid  Deo,  quid  hoffiinibus  debeamus.”^  This  revelation 
of  God  by  means  of  nature  and  reason  was  obscured  in  man  because  of 
his  depraved  morals  and  customs,  and  therefore  it  had  to  be  repeated 
through  Moses  and  the  prophets;  but  these  holy  men  did  not  add  any- 
thing to  what  had  already  been  revealed  from  the  beginning. 

"Cuod  vero  Moses  de  Deo  et  voluntate  Dei 
alia  neque  plura  docuerit,  quam  nos  natura  et  ratio 


)id.  p.  235. 
)id.  p.  336. 
)id.  p.  341. 


4 


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290 


docet,  id  manifestum  est  ex  Decalog;o,  qui  est 
nobis  natura  notus  et  insitus,  atque  ideo  omnes 
homines  omnibus  temporibus  obligavit  et  obligat, 
et  est  praecipuum  et  summa  doctrinae  Mosaicae, 
ita  ut  tota  doctrina  Mosis  de  Deo  et  voluntate 
Dei  in  Decalogo  comprehendatur . 

The  most  primitive  religion  is  also  the  truest  in  another  respect, 
in  its  freedom  from  ceremonial  or  sacrament,  such  as  baptism  and 
circumcision.  ” Atque  ita  redibim_us  ad  statum  primorum  hominum,  qui 
etiam  hunc  naturalem  et  rationalem  cultum  Dei  habuerunt,  nec  ullo 
init ia.t ionis  signo  usi  sunt.”^ 


This  anonymous  treatise  is  of  special  interest  in  giving  a 
doctrinaire  statement  of  religious  opinion  ivhich  at  that  time  was 
not  permitted  in  print,  and  which  has  therefore  not  been  sufficiently 
recognized  in  the  history  of  thought.  As  we  read  it,  we  can  over- 


hear those  many  discussions  behind  closed  doors,  both  in  England 
and  on  the  Continent  during  the  Renaissance,  when,  within  small 
groups  of  trusted  friends,  ne?^  ideas  were  exchanged  at  the  peril  of 
the  stake.  With  the  gradual  extension  of  freedom  of  thought,  these 
Deistic  ideas  must  have  acquired  a wider  and  more  open  circulation. 
It  seems  indeed  highly  probable  that  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury, 
during  his  long  residence  in  Paris,  should  have  taken  part  in  such 
discussions  and  thus  become  indebted  to  a Deistic  tradition  which, 
owing  to  the  intolerance  of  the  age,  had  long  been  transmitted 

orally.^ 


^Ibid.  p.  241. 

2 

Sstro-isfi  disiusees  the  delstio  leanings  in  Charron  in  et. 

son  Temns,  Paris  (1909).  I,  184-ff.  The  eminent  scholar  MF^ 

Laohevre,  recently  discovered  a P°®“  in 

called  rAntihivot  ou  ^ Onatra^  du  delete,  and  pubrished  it  in 

his  Vol-ha^rft  Paris  ^1908). 


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v | 


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Deism  Dissolved  in  Complete  Scepticism 

In  its  beginnings,  Deism  was  therefore  sceptical 
primarily  regarding  the  pretence  of  each  religion  to  a direct 
revelation  from  God,  a divinely  guided  history  and  a divinely 
ordained  mode  of  worship.  Its  scepticism  was  higher  criticism.  On 
the  philosophical  side.  Deism  was  rationalistic  and  dogmatic,  affirm- 
ing the  knowableness  of  religious  truth  and  associating  it  with  the 
rationalistic  Stoic  doctrine  of  the  Law  of  Nature.  The  true 
religion  must  be  universally  evident  to  those  who  would  seek  it, 
without  the  assistance  of  any  revelation  or  tradition;  it  must 
therefore  also  be  manifested  universally  in  all  good  and  upright 
men.  Herbert  only  went  farther  than  previous  Deists  in  investigating: 
the  problem  of  knowledge;  he  inquired  critically  into  what  they  had 
assumed.  But  Herbert  was  at  one  with  his  predecessors  in  founding 

his  religion  on  reason. 

The  sceptical  spirit,  nevertheless,  pervaded  the  whole 
Deistic  movement.  Deism  may  be  regarded  as  a stage  in  the  develop- 
ment of  modern  scepticism;  it  was  scepticism  in  an  arrested 
development,  the  attempt  of  Renaissance  enlightenment  to  find  a 
via  media  between  superstition  and  atheism.  On  its  critical  side 
it  was  modern,  on  its  positive  side  it  was  a continuation  of  the 
tradition  of  the  rational  Law  of  Nature,  which,  as  we  have  seen,  was 
so  important  in  the  thought  of  the  Middle  Ages  and  the  Renaissance. 
This  rationalism  of  the  Deists,  like  the  Platonic  rationalism  of 
Davies,  evokes  no  response  in  modern  readers,  because  the  modern 


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292 


mind  is  more  deeply  sceptical  than  these  Renaissance  and  seventeenth 
century  rationalists;  their  whole  conception  of  the  reason  and  the 
spiritual  life  has  been  subjected  to  a searching  and  destructive 
criticism.  The  Deistic  movement  dissolved  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  partly  because  it  was  too  superficial,  because  it  tapped 
too  few  of  the  springs  of  spiritual  life,  but  partly  also  because 
its  reliance  on  reason  was  shaken  by  the  scepticism  of  such  men  as 
Hume . ^ 


Isayous,  Lea  De-lste^  Angl^  of 

ChapLr  VITT7  Silpipse.  Pierre, 

philosophical  scepticism  les  Deistes 

L’ Influence  de  Montaigne  Chpl^s  B^o — "T90-219. 392-443  . 

In^is/iH-R^r^du  Seizi^  Sie^e_,  Vol.  I 


tl 


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ftf)  flt«  /B-iX©f adir  'ri  rtta^dia  #jeit  rfo  aaoiBil^i 


•*  <#■ 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 


SCEPTICISM  AND  MYSTICISM  IN  JOHN  DONNE 


I.  Donne's  Intellectual  Development:  Growing  Dualism  of  Reason 
and  Faith.-  II.  The  August ini an ism  of  Donne.-  III.  ihe 
’’Metaphysical"  Style  as  an  Expression  of  Donne  s Mind. 


The  name  of  Donne  has  frequently  recurred  in  this  study. 

In  an  earlier  chapter^  I have  referred  to  the  statement  of  Courthope 
that  Donne  in  his  youth  was  a "sceptic  in  religion"  and  a 
"revolutionist  in  love,"  and  discussed  at  length  the  intellectual 
and  moral  milieu  of  Donne’s  early  verse.  I suggested  at  the  end  of 
that  chapter,  and  also  later  in  a comparison  of  Donne  with  Sir  John 
Davies,^  that  these  early  sceptical  preoccupations  of  Donne  had  an 
important  effect  on  his  religious  development.  Courthope  thought 
Donne  was  reclaimed  from  his  youthful  errors  by  his  marriage,  and 
made  no  attempt  to  show  any  influence  of  these  early  experiences  on 
Donne  the  divine.^  Grierson,  however,  believed  that  "owing  to  the 
fullness  of  Donne's  experience  as  a lover  . . . there  emerged  in  his 
poetry  the  suggestion  of  a new  philosophy  of  love.  And  he  noted 
the  traces  of  scepticism  in  the  Anniversaries,,  and  in  Donne's 
tolerant  acceptance  of  all  sects  of  Christianity  and  his  quasi- 
political preference  for  the  Anglican  church.^  The  purpose  of  this 


^Chapter  III.  See  above,  pp.  111-ff. 
^See  page  193. 

'"See  Courthope,  Hist .,  of  Eng.  Poetry. 
pDonne ' s Poetical  Works . ed. Grierson. 
^Ibid.  II,  187-8  and  23  5-6. 


III,  147-ff. 
II,  XXXV. 


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394 


chapter  is  to  study  more  precisely  than  Grierson  and  Courthope  have 
done  the  extent  to  which  Donne  may  have  been  sceptical  in  philosophy 
and  religion,  and  the  effect  of  this  scepticism  on  the  ’’Metaphysical 
style  which  distinguished  Donne  from  his  contemporaries  and  made  him 
the  founder  of  a school  of  poetry. 


Donne's  Intellectual  Development:  Growing  Dualism 

of  Faith  and  Reason 

In  a very  thorough  and  learned  treatise  on  the  relation  of 
Donne  to  Medieval  philosophical  doctrines,  Miss  Mary  Paton  Ramsay  has 
incidentally  taken  issue  with  Courthope  and  sought  to  minimize  the 
scepticism  of  Donne.  Her  main  purpose  was  to  show  how  thoroughly 
Donne  was  imbued  with  the  Plotinian  tradition  which  permeated 
Medieval  thought. 

"Chez  lui,"  she  says  of  Donne,  "on  decouvre, 
en  e'tudiant  \ fond.ses  e^crits  en  prose^and  en  vers, 
un  penseur  profondement  religieux  en  meme  temps  que 
fermement  convaincu  de  la  valeur  de  la  raison 
humaine  . . . Dans  les  haute s regions  de  la 
speculation  me'taphysique  dont  les  docteurs  du  moyen 
age  lui  montraient  le  chemin,  il  n'y  avait  pas  de 
place  pour  les  doutes.  Des  doutes  pouvaient  tour- 
menter  Donne  devant  des  questions  ecclesiastiques 
melees  "a  des  conceptions  politiques,  ou  devant ^ son 
propre  coeur  consoient  de  faiblesse  et  de  peche . 

Mais  non  quand  son  esprit  s'^l^ve  a ces  hauteurs. 

Alors  I'idee  cree  1' expression  qui  lui  convient 
et  nous  yoyons  ce  que  Donne  est  capable  de  produire 
comme  poete."^ 


Ramsay,  Mary  Paton,  I^  Doctrines  Medievales  chez.  Donne , Pp.etg- 
M^aphysicien  de  1' Angleterre , Oxford  (1917).  p.  18^ 


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395 


But  we  must  object  that  this  conception  simplifies  beyond  recognitiai 
the  complex  and  enigmatic  personality  of  Donne  and  removes  from  his 
life  that  element  of  dramatic  uncertainty  and  suspense  which  mahes 
his  biography  so  fascinating.  Miss  Ramsay's  remarks  are  far  more 
applicable  to  Sir  John  Davies.  For  Donne  cannot  be  explained  by 
any  systematization  of  his  ideas j his  riddle  must  be  read  by  a 
sympathetic  appreciation  of  his  personality,  his  greed  for  knowledge 
and  experience,  his  difficulties,  disappointments  and  dissatisfac- 
tions, and  the  increasing  depth  and  intensity  of  his  religious 
feeling;  the  final  study  of  Donne  must  be  biographical. 

We  must,  to  begin  with,  try  to  see  life  as  it  appeared  to 
the  young  law  student  and  courtier  in  London.  He  would  have  been 
greatly  astonished  had  he  heard  predicted  his  future  failure  at 
court  and  his  subsequent  greatness  as  a divine.  The  young  Donne  was 
ambitious  for  a secular  career  and  with  reason  felt  himself  the 


master  of  his  fate.  He  was  conscious  from  the  first  of  very  dis- 
tinguished powers.  Educated  a Catholic,  and  anxious  to  make  his  way 
at  a Protestant  court,  he  decided  to  settle  for  himself  the  truth 
about  the  ecclesiastical  question  with  which  he  was  faced.  In  his 
OT/n  words,  he  avoided  "any  violent  and  sudden  determination  till  I 
had,  to  the  measure  of  my  power  and  judgment,  surveyed  and  digested 
the  whole  body  of  divinity,  controverted  between  ours  and  the 
Roman  Church."^  This  extended  study,  however,  did  not  lead  him  to 


iri<TtiCO0tr  aoi^isr^jsoo  al/f^  '4‘Jirfi  d^09|;rfa  i^aijtB  ap 


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of  great  intellectual  and  personal  distinction,  he  was  winning  the 
friendship  and  confidence  of  important  men.  But  Donne  was  at  this 
time  more  than  a successful  lawyer  and  courtier  and  a student  of 
"controverted  divinity."  In  a letter,  written  probably  in  1608, 
he  complains  that  his  early  study  of  law  was  interfered  with  "by 
the  worst  voluptuousness,  which  is  an  hydroptic,  immoderate  desire 
of  human  learning  and  languages  — beautiful  ornaments  to  great 
fortunes;  but  mine  needed  an  occupation."^  In  a very  interesting 
passage  of  Calme , a passage  which  must  perhaps  not  be  taken  as 
too  literal  autobiography,  he  suggests  three  reasons  for  his  joining 
the  Cadiz  expedition  of  1596: 

"Whether  a rotten  state,  and  hope  of  gaine, 

Or  to  disuse  mee  from  the  queasie  paine 
Of  being  be  lov'd,  and  loving,  or  the  thirst 
Of  honour,  or  faire  death,  out  pusht  mee  first, 

he  will  not  say,  letting  the  reader  suppose  that  all  three  motives 
may  have  contributed  to  his  decision. ^ This  allusion  to  love  as  a 
I "queasie  paine,"  in  a poem  written  already  in  1597,  is  significant 
in  the  light  of  Donne's  interest  in  the  "libertine"  naturalism  of 
the  Renaissance,  which  ha.s  been  studied  in  an  earlier  chapter.  Avid 
of  experience  and  knowledge,  filled  with  the  Renaissance  spirit  of 
sounding  the  depths  of  life  and  truth,  Donne  had  found  no  peace  in 
that  philosophy  of  life  which  gave  such  complete  satisfaction  to 
Montaigne.  His  intellectual  and  spiritual  life  began  at  the  place 
where  Montaigne's  ended.  In  passing  through  this  stage  of  natural- 
istic ethics,  Donne  came  to  know  himself  better.  And  this  experience 


Joosse,  op.  cit.  I,  191. 
^Grierson.  I.  i?9. 


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could  not  but  contribute  to  the  inwardness,  the  passionate  humility, 
the  deep  feeling  of  dependence  on  some  source  of  spiritual  power 
outside  of  himself,  which  marked  the  saintly  divine  of  later  years. 

During  these  early  years  Donne  had  come  in  contact  also, 
as  we  have  seen,  with  the  current  philosophical  scepticism,  the 
denial  of  any  standards  of  truth  and  goodness.  The  cynical 
Progresse  of  the  Soule,  written  in  1601,  closes  with  an  allusion  to 
this  mode  of  thought: 

’’Ther's  nothing  simply  good,  nor  ill  alone, 

Of  every  quality  comparison,  ^ 

The  onely  measure  is,  and  judge , opinion. 

j He  probably  never  doubted  the  powers  of  the  reason  so  completely  as 
Montalaae,  and  in  his  Essays  in  Divinity,  written  in  1614,  he  speaks 
in  a tone  of  sarcasm  of  the  philosophy  of  Sextus  Empiricus.  But 
philosophers  may  exert  a powerful  influence  even  on  men  who  are  not 
their  complete  disciples,  and  Donne,  who  was  fascinated  in  his  youth 
by  Pyrrhonism,  owed  to  it  some  of  his  freedom  from  the  rationalism 
and  the  scholastic  theology  which  he  frequently  referred  to  with 
scorn  as  the  doctrines  of  the  Schools.  And  there  are  passages  in 
his  letters  and  sermons  in  which  he  reflects  some  of  that  dissatis- 
faction with  the  results  of  reason  which  marks  philosophical  sceptic 
In  a letter  written  in  1613  he  says:  ’’Except  demonstrations,”  that 

is,  mathematical  proofs,  ’’(and  perchance  there  are  very  few  of  them) 
I find  nothing  without  perplexities.  I am  grown  more  sensible  of  it 
by  busying  myself  a little  in  the  search  of  the  eastern  tongues. 


gGrierson.  I,  316. 
Ramsay,  op.  cit.  p 


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where  a perpetual  perplexity  in  the  words  cannot  choose  but  cast  a 
perplexity  upon  the  things."^  The  criticism  implied  is  perhaps  more 
one  of  language  than  of  reason  itself,  but  it  indicates  a mind  dis- 
posed to  scepticism.  And  Honne  did  not  look  to  philosophy  to 
illuminate  the  path  of  life  with  such  confidence  as,  for  instance, 
Spenser;  the  pure  of  heart,  he  said  in  a sermon,  get  by  their 
purity  ”this  main  purchase,  that  which  all  the  books  of  all  the 
philosophers  could  never  teach  them  so  much  as  what  it  was,  that  is 
true  blessedness."^  To  appreciate  what  these  passages  mean  we  must 
relate  them  to  the  tendencies  among  Donne's  contemporaries;  they 
signify  that  Donne,  one  of  the  most  intellectual  of  men,  was  too 
deeply  critical  of  the  reason  ever  to  content  himself  in  such 
rationalistic  shallows  as  satisfied  his  contemporaries.  Sir  John 
Davies  and  Edward  Herbert. 

But  Donne  had  early  undertaken  to  find  the  true  religion. 
In  his  satire,  Kinde  nitty  chokes  my.  spleene , ^ he  rebukes  those  who 
adhere  to  any  sect  without  studying  and  thinking  the  problem  through 
for  themselves:  Mirreus  the  Catholic,  Grants  the  Calvinist,  Graius 
the  Anglican,  are  sketched  with  a few  strong,  uncomplimentary 
strokes.  Then  there  are  others: 

"Carelesse  Phrygius  doth  abhorre 
All,  because  all  cannot  be  good,  as  one 
Knowing  some  women  whores,  dares  marry  none. 

Gracous  loves  all  as  one,  and  thinkes  that  so 

As  women  do  in  divers  countries  goe 

Ixi  divers  habits,  yet  are  still  one  kinde. 

So  doth,  so  is  Religion;  and  this  blind- 
nesse  too  much  light  breeds." 


jGosse,  op.  cit.  II,  16.  

^Donne,  Works,  ed.  Alford,  Henry,  London  vlS^SK 

^Griersoru  T,  154-8. 


I,  191, 


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Donne  is  confident  that  truth  can  be  found  by  earnest  effort, 
provided  one  goes  back  far  enough  to  the  original  sources  and  culti 
vates  an  open  mind.  And  one  cannot  escape  the  obligation  of  making 

a choice: 

” unmoved  thou 

Of  force  must  one,  and  forc’d  but  one  allo^ir; 

And  the  right;  aske  thy  father  which  shee 
Let  him  aske  his;  though  truth  and  falshood  bee 
Neare  twins,  yet  truth  a little  elder  is, 

Be  busie  to  seeke  her,  beleeve  mee  this, 

Hee's  not  of  none,  nor  worst,  that  seeke s the  best. 

To  adore,  or  scorne  an  image,  or  protest. 

May  all  be  bad;  doubt  wisely;  in  strange  way 
To  stand  inquiring  right,  is  not  to  stray; 

To  sleepe,  or  sunne  wrong,  is.” 


But  unceasing  labor  is  necessary. 

"On  a huge  hill, 

Cragged,  and  steep.  Truth  stands,  and  hee^that  will 
Reach  her,  about  must,  and  about  must  goe, 

And  what  the  hills  suddennes  resists,  winne  so; 

Yet  strive  so,  that  before  age,  deaths  twilight, 

Thy  Soule  rest,  for  none  can  worke  in  that  night. 

An  interesting  commentary  on  this  satire,  which  was 
probably  written  between  1594  and  1597,  is  to  be  found  in  several 
letters,  from  about  1607  to  Donne's  entry  into  orders.  All  sects 
he  says  in  the  first,  dated  by  Gosse  1607,  need  to  be  purged  of 

false  doctrines: 

begin  to  think  that  as  litigious  men  tired 
with  suits  admit  any  arbitrament,  and  princes 
travailed  with  long  and  wasteful  war  descend  to 
such  conditions  of  peace  as 

ashamed  to  have  embraced;  so  philosophers,  ana 
tfall  sects  of  Christians,  after  long  disputation, 
and  controversies,  have  allowed  many  things  o 
positive  and  dogmatical  truths  which  are  not  worthy 


'Grierson.  II, 


103 


s 


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<aaryvtp-_--auo.ggBfj)> 


300 


of  that  dignity;  and  so  many  doctrines  have  gro'/m 
to  be  ordinary  diet  and  food  of  our  spirits,  and 
have  place  in  the  pap  of  catechisms,  which  were 
admitted  but  as  physic  in  that  present  distemper, 
or  accepted  in  a lazy  weariness,  when  men  so  they 
might  have  something  to  rely  upon,  and  to  excuse 
themselves  from  more  painful  inquisition,  never 
examined  what  that  was.”i 

In  a later  letter,  impossible  to  date  exactly,  Donne  expresses  a 
broad  tolerance  towards  all  sects  as  containing  some  truth. 

"You  know,"  he  says,  "I  never  fettered  nor 
imprisoned  Religion,  not  straightening  it 
friarly  ad  Religiones  factitias  (as  the  Romans  call 
well  their  orders  of  Re ligion) , nor  immuring  it  in  a 
Rome,  or  a Wittemberg,  or  a Geneva;  they  are  all 
virtual  beams  of  one  Sun, and  wheresoever  they  find 
clav  hearts,  they  harden  them  and  moulder  them  into 
dust;  and  they  entender  and  mollify  waxen.  They  are 
not  so  contrary  as  the  North  and  South  Poles,  and 
that  (?)  they  are  co-natural  pieces  of  one  circle. 

Religion  is  Christianity,  which  being  too  spiritual 
to  be  seen  by  us,  doth  therefore  take  an  apparent 
body  of  good  life  and  works,  so  salvation  requires 
an  honest  Christian."^ 

But  in  a letter  written  in  1615  he  goes  even  further,  and  suggests 
that  the  merits  of  the  various  religions  or  sects  within 
Christianity  may  not  be  absolute,  and  that  violent  conversions  from 
one  to  another  may  be  dangerous,  irrespective  of  the  relative  degre 
of  ascertainable  truth  in  each. 

"As  some  bodies,"  he  says, "are  as  wholesomely 
nourished  as  ours  with  acorns,  and  endure  nakedness, 
both  which  would  be  dangerous  to  us, 
should  leave  our  former  habits,  though  theirs  were 
the  primitive  diet  and  custom;  so  are  many  souls 
well  fed  with  such  forms  and  dressings  of  religion, 
as  would  distemper  and  misbecome  us,  and  make  us 
corrupt  towards  God,  if  any  human  circmstance 
moved  it,  and  in  the  opinion  of  men,  though  none. 


1, 


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feOftA: ^.T-Uri  xrjt  tl  <iiOO  sX)X0iiod«  ^qu%roo  * 
.aflOfl  ri|i7o4^  "^0  aoleiqo  arid  ni  X^xxb  ^di  i 

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• . '■■  ■■^  % 


. *n 


301 


You  shall  seldom  see  a coin,  upon  which  the  stamp 
were  removed,  though  to  imprint  it  better,  but  it 
looks  awry  and  s^iuint.  And  so,  for  the  most  part, 
do  minds  which  have  received  divers  impressions. 

"I  will  not,  nor  need  to  you,  compare  the 
religions.  The  channels  of  God's  mercies  run 
through  both  fields;  and  they  are  sister  teats 
of  His  graces,  yet  bpth  diseased  and  infected, 
but  not  both  alike.  ”-‘- 

Donne  never  found  the  one  true  church  which  he  had  sought  for.  Even 
in  the  Holy  Sonnets,  written  after  1617,  when  he  was  eminent  as  an 
Anglican  divine,  he  is  still  seeking,  now  no  longer  in  "controverted 
theology,"  but  in  prayer,  for  a church  to  which  he  can  give 
undivided,  uncritical  allegiance. 

"Show  me  deare  Christ,  thy  Spouse,  so  bright  and  cleare.' 

In  his  brave  search  after  truth  amid  the  controversies  of  religious 
factions,  he  had  suffered  defeat  and  disillusionment. 

Donne  had,  moreover,  experienced  to  a greater  degree  than 
most  Englishmen  of  his  time  the  disquieting  effect  of  the  new 
astronomy.  He  was  an  eager  student  of  the  books  of  Galileo  and 
Kepler  as  soon  as  they  appeared.^  And  in  Anniversary^ 

1611,  occurs  the  frequently  quoted  passage  beginning: 

4 

"And  new  Philosophy  calls  all  in  doubt. 

"Copernicism  in  the  mathematics,"  he  says  in  a letter  in  1615,  "hath 


if '330.  — This  sonnet  was 

in  seventeenth  century  editions,  and  was  first  printed  in  Gosse  s 
Life,  II,  371. 

^See  above,  pp.  200,  213 


'"See  above,  pp.  <3x0. 

^Grierson.  I,  237.  Of.  letter  to  Countess  of  Bedford,  Ibid.  p.l.,6. 


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i.  T < ■*’ 

■’  • *r,^  ' . 


302 


carried  earth  farther  up,  from  the  stupid  centre;  and  yet  not 
honoured  it,  nor  advantaged  it,  because  for  the  necessity  of 


towards  the  end  of  his  life,  in  a sermon  preached  in  1626,  he 
reproaches  his  age  with  the  slowness  with  which  the  new  science  is 
accepted. 


"What  one  thing,"  he  asks,  "do  we  know 
perfectly?  Whether  we  consider  arts,  or  sciences, 
the  servant  knows  but  according  to  the  proportion 
of  his  master's  knowledge  in  that  art,  and  the 
scholar  knows  but  according  to  the  proportion  of 
his  master’s  knowledge  in  that  science;  young  men 
mend  not  their  sight  by  using  old  men's  spectacles; 
and  yet  we  look  upon  nature,  but  with  Aristotle's 
spectacles,  and  upon  the  body  of  man,  but  with 
Galen's,  and  upon  the  frame  of  the  world,  but 
with  Ptolemy's  spectacles."^ 


He  makes  two  pointed  uses  of  this  reference  to  science.  In  the 
first  place,  he  manifests  the  full  force  of  his  scepticism  towards 
the  philosophical  and  scientific  knowledge  handed  down  by  tradition 


"Almost  all  knowledge,"  he  says,  "is  rather  like 
a child  that  is  embalmed  to  make  mummy,  than  that  is 
nursed  to  make  a man;  rather  conserved  in  the  stature 
of  the  first  age,  than  grown  to  be  greater;  and  if 
there  be  any  addition  to  knowledge,  it  is  rather  a 
new  knowledge,  than  a greater  knowledge;  rather  a 
singularity  in  a desire  of  proposing  something  that 
was  not  kno’wn  at  all  before,  than  an  improving,  an 
advancing,  a multiplying  of  former  inceptions;  and 
by  that  means,  no  knowledge  comes  to  be  perfect. 

One  philosopher  thinks  he  has  dived  to  the  bottom, 
when  he  says,  he  knows  nothing  but  this,  that  he 
knows  nothing;  and  yet  another  thinks,  that  he 
hath  expressed  more  knowledge  than  he,  in  saying. 


appearances,  it  hath  carried  heaven  so  m.uch  higher  from  it."^ 


Even 


that  he  knows  not  so  much  as  that,  that  he  knows 


nothing. " 


1 


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304 


head,  but  restlessness  and  pain  and  endless  labor  and  search. 

Donne  had,  however,  in  the  meantime  found  a new  source  of 
spiritual  strength  and  comfort.  It  seems  probable,  as  Courthope 
says,^  that  his  happy  marriage  had  a redeeming  influence  upon  him 
and  inspired  his  nobler  love  poems.  But  he  had  a religious 
awakening  also.  In.  one  of  his  love  poems,  A Valedi c t i ,on , occurs  a 
striking  statement  that  ’’all  Divinity  is  love  or  wonder,”  an  idea 
which  Donne  repeated  years  afterwards  in  The_  First  Anniversary.* 

’’The  world  contains s 

Princes  for  armes,  and  Counsellors  for  braines, 

Lawyers  for  tongues.  Divines  for  hearts,  and  more, 

The  Rich  for  stomackes,  and  for  baokes,  the  Poore; 

The  Officers  for  hands.  Merchants  for  feet, 

By  which,  remote  and  distant  Countries  meet. 

But  those  fine  spirits  which  do  tune,  and  set 
This  Organ,  are  those  peeces  which  beget 
Wonder  and  love;  and  these  were  shee.”’^ 

The  thought  was  deeply  imbedded  in  his  mind  that  the  soul  of  the 
world  was  not  knowable  to  reason,  that  the  true  theology  appeals  in 
some  other  way;  in  some  personal  experience  or  crisis  he  had  had  a 
flash  of  insight  into  a mystery  not  explained  by  ’’controverted 
divinity”  and  become  a mystic.  From  that  time  reason  began  to  lose 
its  preeminence,  his  spiritual  life  gained  power  and  intensity,  and 
his  prayer  became 

”Looke  to  mee  faith,  and  looke  to  my  faith,  God.” 

The  relation  between  reason  and  faith  is  frequently  dis- 
cussed or  alluded  to  by  Donne.  He  begins  a verse  letter  to  the 


sermons. 

ICourthope,  Hist,  of  Eng.  Poet^.  HI,  Ibb. 

^Ih1d^!°l46^Cf‘:''•’All  love  is  wonder,"  In  The  Anagram,  ed.olt.  1,81^ 


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1 


Countess  of  Bedford,  written  some  time  between  1608  and  1614,  with 
the  statement: 

^Reason  is  our  Soules  left  hand,  Faith  her  right. 

By  these  wee  reach  divinity." 

But  he  would, 

"not  to  encrease,  but  to  expresse 
My  faith,  as  I beleeve,  so  understand." 

He  labored  always  to  understand.  "No  one  may  doubt,"  he  wrote  in  a 
letter,  in  1612,  "but  that  that  religion  is  certainly  best  which  is 
reasonablest. And  in  his  Elegy  on  Prince  Henr^,  1613,  he  almost 
identifies  the  spheres  of  reason  and  faith. 

"Looke  to  mee  faith,  and  looke  to  my  faith, God; 

For  both  my  centers  feele  this  period. 

Of  waight  one  center,  one  of  greatnesse  is; 

And  Reason  is  that  center,  Faith  is  this; 

For  into 'our  reason  flow,  and  there  do  end 
All,  that  this  naturall  world  doth  comprehend: 

Quotidian  things,  and  equidistant  hence. 

Shut  in,  for  man,  in  one  circumference. 

But  for  th'  enormous  greatnesses,  which  are 
So  disproportion' d,  and  so  angulare. 

As  is  Gods  essence,  place  and  providence. 

Where,  how,  when,  what  soules  do,  departed  hence. 

These  things  (eccentrique  else)  on  faith  do  strike; 

Yet  neither  all,  nor  upon  all,  alike. 

For  reason,  put  to 'her  best  extension,  3 

Almost  meetes  faith,  and  makes  both  centers  one. 

The  reason,  too,  might  become  a valuable  defender  of  the  faith 
against  rationalistic  attacks.  "It  is  not  enough  for  you,"  Donne 
said  in  a sermon,  1623,  "to  rest  in  imaginary  faith,  and  easiness  in 
believing,  except  you  know  also  what,  and  why,  and  how  you  come  to 
that  belief.  Implicit  believers,  ignorant  believers. 


icrierson.  I,  189. 


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306 

the  adversary  may  swallow;  but  the  understanding  believer,  he  must 
chaw,  and  pick  bones,  before  he  come  to  assimilate  him,  and  make 
him  like  himself."^  Nevertheless  Donne  was  troubled  by  the 
consciousness  of  a contradiction  between  reason  and  faith.  In  his 
Litany,  written  about  1609  or  1610,  he  had  already  formulated  for 
himself  the  prayer: 

"Let  not  my  minde  be  blinder  by  more  light  « 

Nor  Faith,  by  Reason  added,  lose  her  sight.” 

From  the  numerous  passages  on  this  subject  in  the  sermons  I select 
one,  preached  on  Christmas  Day,  1621,  on  the  text,  "He  was  not  that 
Light,  but  was  sent  to  bear  7fitness  of  that  Light”  (John,  i.8.). 


"In  all  ohilosophy,"  he  said,  "there  is  not  so 
dark  a thing* as  light;  as  the  sun,  which  is  fans 
lucis  natural! 8.,  the  beginning  of  natural  light, 
is  the  most  evident  thing  to  be  seen,  and  yet  the 
hardest  to  be  looked  upon,  so  is  natural  light  to 
our  reason  and  understanding.  Nothing  clearer, for 
it  is  clearness  itself,  nothing  darker,  it  is 
enwrapped  in  so  many  scruples.  Nothing  nearer, 
for  it  is  around  about  us,  nothing  more  remote, 
for  we  know  neither  entrance,  nor  limits  of  it. 
Nothing  more  easy,  for  a child  discerns  it,  nothing 
more  hard,  for  no  man  understands  it.  It  is 
apprehensible  by  sense,  and  not  comprehensible 
by  reason.  If  we  wink,  we  cannot  choose  but  see 
it,  if  we  stare,  we  know  it  never  the  better.  No 
man  is  yet  got  so  near  to  the  knowledge  of  the 
qualities  of  light,  as  to  know  whether  light 
itself  be  a quality,  or  a substance.  If  then 
this  natural  lis'ht  be  so  dark  to  our  natural 
reason,  if  we  shall  offer  to  pierce  so  far  into 
the  light  of  this  text,  the  essential  light 
Christ  Jesus,  (in  his  nature,  or  but  in  his 
offices)  or  the  supernatural  light  of  faith  and 
grace,  ...  if  we  search  farther  into  these 
points,  than  the  Scripture  hath  opened  us  a way, 
how  shall  we  hope  to  unentangle,  or  extricate 
themselves?  They  had  a precious  composition 
for  lamps,  amongst  the  ancients,  reserved 


jAlford. 

'^Grierson 


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aX  jZ  .XX  orr  loir  ,Xxw^axoia 

aXdXijQaxZa'XqitiOO  Jox:  ijixr.  \.san6a  vcf  aXd|3iiftrfo'!f<i^ 
^0^  duif  ^oorte  lojmac.  aw'  ,4Utlw  ai  Itl  ;nc?3aftT 
oJI  letrarr  4t  '^ni'.aw  a ow  11., J I 

Btt  a^a^sLAcEti^adc  ol  xsaxt  be'Xos  ^ait  aX^^itA* 


oa 


Xff^XX  oX  ee  ,arfaXX  to  esillXao>'i>j?," 


iiA/ri  TI  .'S<!iTJB5edife  e *5o  a ©tf  5tX A*1X ' Mfea j 

^ ^ ^ ‘ ‘ -----  ■ 

* • ■»  A ^ -1^  *i  .’.*^  »r  j 


if 


sktuiza  tJtm  04  iiat  qa  ocf  X*!;?!! 
oXnx  x&t  joa  .qoae.x^j.  od-  t^I-q  xXaiia  »w  tX  ,xro«»5t 
X4sXf  X"4X<?na«oa  aitx  .djta^  sXrfX  lo  id^ tl ' axft 
, eXa  aX  smf'  to  ,«ixrj*n  aXd  aX)  ^aif8»t  XaXidO  .»; 
brA  rldXAl  ^0  XdjfXX  lA’liilaaieqYe  eifd  to  (asoXtld  . ’ ' 

^o.»dT  Qint  dOJjii>9  >iw  It  , k . 

a Bv  bsA^qo  rfiAd  axir^qiioS  audl 
alA?^XT5Tc9  zo^^^^£%r.a4haj&u  oX  aqod,  aw  XXAxfij  wod  __, 
iioXl  Xooqccfc  a^r'cXoaitj  A bjBd  Y®tZT  ^eevXoe^axfi^ 
b&yiaeci  ^aaaatooM  adt  la^ooK*'  .agiBil  lot 


-i' 


307 


especially  for  tombs,  which  kept  light  for  many 
hundreds  of  years;  we  have  had  in  our  age  exper- 
ience, in  some  casual  openings  of  ancient  vaults, 
of  finding  such  lights,  as  were  kindled,  (as 
appeared  by  their  inscriptions)  fifteen  or 
sixteen  hundred  years  before;  but,  as  soon  as 
that  light  comes  to  our  light,  it  vanishes.  So 
this  eternal,  and  this  supernatural  light,  Christ 
and  faith,  enlightens,  warms,  purges,  and  does 
all  the  profitable  offices  of  fire,  and  light, 
if  we  keep  it  in  the  right  sphere,  in  the  proper 
place,  (that  is,  if  we  consist  in  points  necessary 
to  salvation,  and  revealed  in  the  Scripture)  but 
when  we  bring  this  light  to  the  common  light  of 
reason,  to  our  inferences,  and  consequences,  it 
may  be  in  danger  to  vanish  itself,  and  perchance 
extinguish  our  reason  too;  we  may  search  so  far, 
and  reason  so  long  of  faith  and  grace,  as  that 
we  may  lose  not  only  them,  but  even  our  reason 
too,  and  sooner  become  mad  than  good.” 


Only  the  most  salient  features  of  the  mental  biography  of 
Donne  can  be  touched  on  in  so  brief  a sketch  as  this.  But  perhaps 
what  has  been  said  may  afford  an  insight  into  those  permanent 
impulses  and  their  conflicts  which  dominated  his  enigmatical  life. 
Gifted  with  a profound  intellect,  he  sought  from  the  beginning  to 
unravel  the  mysteries  of  all  knowledge,  including  divinity.  But 
though  he  felt  himself  far  more  successful  than  most  men  about 
him,  whose  easy  acquiescence  in  tradition  he  lashed  with  scorn,  he 
was  forced  to  confess  that  he  was  in  some  measure  defeated,  that 
knowledge  is  difficult  and  uncertain  even  to  the  best  minds,  and 
that  much  philosophizing  is  often  a vanity  of  the  spirit.  But  while 
he  was  suffering  this  disillusionment  he  was  also  discovering  a new 
source  of  spiritual  power,  faith.  The  student,  lawyer  and  courtier 
became  a mystic.  He  had,  however,  no  sudden  revelation  of  his 
spiritual  powers.  He  had  to  pass  through  years  of  privation,  dis- 

^Alford.  V.  55.  - — 


^ostu  102:  . rtrsjf  rfoirfw  . Fcftso;^  Tot- Y-Cije.lo?^5 

ij»-i3c«  x-m  hi.  luscf  ^ ^o  feJbeiiimjil' 

,uittsr^*  fa'itionM  lo  •^nlirscjo  X«u8.«o  diooi  jti  .son^i 


v4>  ,h?ii.iv£t3{  «x*i?f  o«  *a#rtai-^.  Siiihiin  'to  . •:;-?« 

xo  {c'noJt4qi:xo4/rl  *ieht  yd 

i'idoa  34j  i^xbldcr  utj3»t  Aa^cord  caoihtiB 

1-1  ^tfhgxX  xf/o  fiaaoo  i-rfigil  tadt 
Jii'iru)  aixl^ 

8Bxi>  i'lra  4«axisr  ,i«©74giin«^rfcfiat  jj>fxi  - 

IrttB  ^0  eaoi't^io 

X3»5©xq  ^4gjx  'ftifir  rri  ;tt  qm^  »«  !ti.^  F«^  *\ 

yxxjBB'^oaxi  ‘intrq  rl  .teianoo  ©w  1i  ,ai  »©ojeXq  ' ' 

tfj/4  (btu/vqix©R  arfi  jJ  59ljsaT©x  hail  ..qol&urlsa  oJ 

2-tr  xdgiX  ©4if  cJf  ^d^lX  4‘4dt\^attd  0q’a9d^ 

3i  ,nioawv®a^oo  Jbojj  ^tBorthieXai  xjuo  oi“  ./Toeh®! 
soAiirfoteq  ixYjs  ,l£»att  Aaiaj»r"oS  xbgnAh  acf  yjsaf 
,*l»2  08  doT&SB  t-8u  <Hf  4©«h©i.  xiro  rlBit/sai^^xa 

titd^  Bz  ,dOJSTp  Jum  djtz’t  lo  gaoX^^a.ii  noBJiei  t’a.A 
atei^x  -ji/o  n-^9.tud  ,Dwri4f  yixto  ion  380l'*\um  ew 
. ‘*‘”.5008  i>a«  sw*bobd  'xeaooa  5«a  ,ooi 


'4' 


■;,  1 

i;rVi 


.<  >bj. 


fiti  X.«4a^  *>4i  2to  .aa-stfisal  inailjBo  ad|  y^IaO 

/‘.ft  h loiitf  oa'  a5'"ao  acr  >nx)0  •^noQj| 

iirortcaioq  ©gW?^ciai  U-tsAt  5*0^^  yuai-hlW  /i»84,;bA4 

..  .,■  * ■'  ' ' ' \ ' 

-.  * <>'1 A X/ XiBo X i.ajJTj 1 0 a tu*4  h^ttni^ob  eji^iCinoo  xl'ixfo"  haa  aaaXi^qaii; 

09  ga^-cfigad  edt  a»x'x  irigxfoo  axf  ^9  ffiUi>9at  brufoiz^xq  b^9itD 

. ' ■,  ’ '/'  i.  .‘I 

/ JuB  .yilitiv  |i>  ,,»:si^aXttx^ai  lt&  to  eylto^atw  arfi|X«T^xxix;, 

■'  ' ■ , '“  ' ■''  ^ ‘“7»„ 

iircdz  RBc  9»om  aziii  Xi/ta,fc. eooht  tttom  xat  ^tXasHtiiil-'^Xat'  otf ' 


atf  ,axooe  Attw  ti^dnzL  9d  noi^ibiMi  iri  soxtftoea'iupoii  yaja  aaodbRf '\iffiii4 
Jtadi  .5»ia»to5  o%x*tznm  atfoa  hi  bjbw  md  «««taob  oi  haoict'axi^t 

■ ?r  ♦ • , . - t . ■ . .’■'' 


tShaifli  3*fftc(  8£j  aovs  bafi^X^ont’^bvai*^ 

, ' ' ' ' . ’ i;,  ® ' ' 

‘oIxd\»  .TLitq^  ^^\}9  '-ifl4y  JB  a»9to  ei  snial'dgoaoXixfe  doif^ 

■ ^ » , >. 


,voa  A gaxxavoo.eU  oala  bz'h  fiwt,  jaamrtoiaalXiaih  gait-atti/aU^w  ©d 


T*>t9zjijo  bxio  ^caykh^t  ,ia»5trtfa  .©4?  .afiiat'  ^lawoq  Xtfx^iiiiaid  to  ooxuoB 
bln  to  xfox^Jstatax  c ©55 da  on  ,'dovairod  »H  ©kjioad' 


cXJOihavisq  to  «ia«y  dgifoid*  *tJ9q  oi  5.*!d  af?  .aifawoq  Xuixdixiqa 

3 . -.  .-•  . fv; 


. -t 


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'in 


amMii! 


i'ii^ 


appointment,  doubt,  years  of  the  "agony  and  exercise  of  sense  and 
spirit,"^  before  he  yielded  his  life  and  soul  fully  to  the  guidance 
of  faith.  And  even  then  his  reason  was  ever  seeking  to  equal  faith 
in  power  and  authority,  but  ever  falling  back  unequal.  This  defeat 
of  the  reason  was  therefore  a spiritual  gain;  for  only  by  it  could 
Donne's  mysticism  have  developed  so  fully  and  intensely,  free  from 
the  inhibitions  of  rationalism.  The  darkening  of  the  understanding 
Donne  has  said  himself,  is  one  of  those  afflictions  by  which  God 
turns  the  soul  to  himself. 


Those  helps,  he  said  in  a sermon,  which  are 
"deduced  from  philosophy  and  natural  reason,  are 
strong  enough  against  afflictions  of  this  world, 
as  long  as  we  can  use  them,  as  long  as  these 
helps  of  reason  and  learning  are  alive,  and  awake, 
and  actuated  in  us,  they  are  able  to  sustain  us 
from  sinking  under  the  afflictions  of  this  world, 
for,  they  have  sustained  many  a Plato,  and  a 
Socrates,  and  Seneca  in  such  cases.  But  when 
part  of  the  affliction  shall  be,  that  God  worketh 
upon  the  spirit  itself,  and  damps  that,  that  he  casts 
a sooty  cloud  upon  the  understanding,  and  darkens 
that,  that  he  doth  exuere  hominem,  divest,  strip 
the  man  of  the  man,  eximere  hominem,  take  the  man 
out  of  the  man,  and  withdraw  and  frustrate  his 
natural  understanding  so,  as  that,  to  this  purpose, 
he  is  no  man,  yet  even  in  this  case,  God  may  mend 
thee,  in  marring  thee,  he  may  build  thee  up  in 
dejecting  thee,  he  may  infuse  another,  ego  vir , 
another  manhood  into  thee,  and  though  thou  canst 
not  say  ego  vir , !_  am  that  moral  man,  safe  in  my 
natural  reason  and  philosophy,  that  is  spent,  yet 
Ego  vir,  I am  that  Christian  man,  who  have  seen 
this  affliction  in  the  cause  thereof,  so  far  off, 
as  in  my  sin  in  Adam,  and  the  remedy  of  this 
affliction,  so  far  off,  as  in  the  death  of  Christ 
Jesus  I am  the  m.an,  that  cannot  repine,  nor  murmur, 
since  I am  the  cause;  I am  the  man  that  cannot 
despair,  since  Christ  is  the  remedy."^ 


icosse.  I,  190. 
"^Alford.  V,  330. 


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him  b^c.^  “to  oatuiexe  briM  •iirosA’*  *erft  I’o  eas^t  ^d^noffliTffioq^S! 

acrpi^iii^  ot  ytlu*i  trot'  bd»  9^IZ  aid  tablet^  erf' eWfb^ed 
afxb\  Xj^Wjs  ojf  ^at^aaa  rantt  aer  aosfistt  strf  asd;t  aara  taA  lo  3 


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rrci>  aili  ^^Xaerrod-ci  Xhb  vXXtrt  Ofi  b»XToI©veiJb  avijrf  ffl8iol^^8vm  «’®nnoa, 
exir  ^atatnir^'b  «rff  .oiBilBiia 1»  aaottidtdrit  adfi 

^ ■ ‘ r J 


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i’  8-  '• ■ ''■  ''' 


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,bXtow  *4i-rJ^  to  B.'ioi^griXttjj  XartX^SJH  dsuona  ^cotte 
::8scft  :s  'iXtoX  8/»  eoij  aao  av  &e  aadX  aa 

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(bXiow  “Vo  «r7oX^oXXl1’a  airs’"  -isitm/  ^orliais  moit 

B Jb/xA  *.  r-TMw  r*rt;A^fl£/s  oriwt 

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d99izo*  fcoO  ?a4w  , x/  XXBi«  ooX^JoiXllu  tria  io 

6Cfo^o  ad  ^6ify  AqaiAh  jbiui  ^Xlttlqa  ‘ad^  ttoqa 

fc.n93f?*h  l^ixi  ^tS0ibiTii;rBS8i^-9d.^  noqi/  ti/oXo  T^^ooa  a) 
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tS>«oqiiiq  6Xrl-  qS  ,9adt  ee  ,oe  gAXJbirB^reiafcm/  Xj6i;£«fjifl.  ..i ;, 
bflora  t&B  boO  «86XiO  atdf  XLt  iwrt  ^or  tCram  oa  »i  ti 

fii  qii  aad&  bliad  5d  ,8od^^  jaiiiaxi  ai  / >. 

• ill  oyo  tiadtooB  9B£/ftti  Yjsa  odr  s^fX^09(;«X> 

Janao  ijoaf  d^ji/vd9  tan  ^^adt  09ni  boodajm  tadtoaa  ii 


Y(t  tiz  ttda  Xjgioff  tasi9  I .ijhr  ■ ton  ‘ 

iia*qe  Xnji  noaBox  l&tu&asf 

iraee  avArf  oifir  <jjBa  oaltii^rfD  torft  me  I \ XtS.' 


^Tip  TAl  OP  .^osittdt  ofi/©;*  Mlt  nl  itoitofXl^ja  aidt 
to,  ybaatsi  ©dt  JbftJi  ^tmiik  xxJt  ole  ut  aa 
z^txdO  tf  ittial:  a|  9B  lAt  oa  ^ooitoiXltA 

tiuitntfjt  lofS  , Jniqoi  S’ertnAO  ' ,a*n  edt  iba’ I ^ 

toniiAO  fraai  edt  oat  1 josu/bc  sdt  Aja  1 loitio 

9£ftf  at  tOiidO  aoai*  irieqaob’ 

ita  ; _ _ BLrJ.  • 


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.QSX  .88&Crpi( 

Mt  fc: 


309 


II 

^ The  August inianism  of  Donne 

Throughout  her  study  of  Donne,  Miss  Ramsay  has  repeated 
that  he  was  peculiarly  the  disciple  of  Augustine,^  but  in  her 
eagerness  to  prove  Donne  a Plotinian  she  has  missed  the  significance 
of  this  discipleship.  For  it  has  a double  significance,  first 
regarding  Donne's  relation  to  Medieval  thought,  and  second  regarding 
the  nature  of  his  religious  experience. 

In  an  earlier  chapter  some  reference  was  made  to  the 
influence  of  Augustine  among  the  nominalists  and  Mystics  of  the 

p 

Middle  Ages,  counteracting  the  intellectualism  of  Aquinas.  With 
the  Reformation  this  opposition  of  Thomism  and  Augustinianism  was 
continued  and  intensified.  Both  Calvinism  and  Lutheranism  were 
distinctly  Augustinian  in  spirit,  though  Anglicanism  here  as  else- 
where was  compromising.  In  the  Catholic  church  the  revival  of 
Augustinianism  by  the  Jansenists  encountered  powerful  and  determined 
opposition,  and  was  at  last  suppressed  and  declared  heretical. 
Although  it  was  a conflict  of  temperaments,  of  modes  of  religious 
experience  rather  than  of  philosophical  schools,  this  opposition  of 
Thomism  and  Augustinianism  is  of  great  importance  in  understanding 
some  of  the  religious  leaders  of  the  Reformation  and  Renaissance, 

3 

and  especially  Donne.  A passage  quoted  earlier  from  the  beginning 
of  the  Summa  Contra  Gentiles  will  recall  the  spirit  of  Aquinas. 


Ramsay,  op.cit.  pp.  17S,  181-3,  330,  325,  252-3,  257,  etc. 
|see  above,  pp.  166-7. 

'^See  above,  p.  39. 


t - 


Ls;^*3gi9i  46ill  ^fijaaod  lo  .^xitfa  i»d  tf’x/orisifOirfT  W*- 


flfX  ? * . orii^atn^A  eI{j!oiiib  sriivfrx^iXooag  a«w-jr^ 


f- .*tg^rTicreis  ^rfr  i o,'^  i^j/fiilaoXS  a exraoCI  avotq  ot  asWiaga© 


'-s 


■Tl? 


II 


.J-- 


!stti  t^a*i!>Xlifr%ia  ©XctLio^  ii  «td  trol  .qidesi:!trtontt 


!stttb’:jps)9'r  Jt,aotQ9  ta»  floliaXo!r  a * ©nnoO.jtiaiiiiaS^t' 

BiXOt^iXei  aid  .to  9tii^Aa  ody, 


-1;  f 


add-  ©eft's  i^ecirdt^i  Xsoa  laaaario  loiliaa  ff*  nX  4 

adif  to  f.o[w’ :vi  iflu:  tlHiheo7k  ad^  ^(iot&A  to  flOffai/Xtflfii 


~a  a 

^ to  iiieUajLi^eaXXajal  odt  ^clJoatstffliXoa^ssA 


"aifi*ft/,i!{  .‘suui'A  fcua  n^iiaadT  to  nol^laoqqo  .ald^  xtoX:  ©artKj^aS 

^ tj  ifl 

. itztfi  msin%T'  tr*  a -^toXrXaQ  d^t>€r  .^alt isnoS’txl.itxTa  J^9^t^ao^ 
r >%aXo  aa  <»»sd  aaXftaoiXynA  d^woni'^.^'l^iiqa  at  xiaXci^qjJSxxA*  V^S^o^.l^8l^>, 


Ic  L&viTQz  Bdf  (foudo  ollofit^aO  ©Hit  rrl 


.axtiaieo-iqisioo  aaw  aiadw 

'V  ' 

i«ff{irxataJb  l*d£  Iitiafcoq  li^tatct/ooca  etaia^Bojtt  ©dt* >rH44iftifliaJrtl3a(^i/^ 
'.rjsoiiaifia  Ifta  iiaaaaxqqi/a  tasX  ta  yaolfi^^qo 


Buoi^XX©!  aa6O0  lo  .alnoaiateqsett  to  talitooo  a eaw  tl,. 

. « ’ ' 4V-" 

to  notSHoqqo  otdt  ,eXoodoa  XaoldqotbXldq  to  aoflal^aqxo 


?cll»ffa48ta>^0ii  M Bj^^K^rfSU  to  fljaiaainlJBi/SijirA  tna  nal»o/lT| 

,acnaai»ij&aaB  Xfta  nox^aviotaq  adt  to  siofeattX  ei/oislXox  &rft  to  wtobJ 


"6 


Itf^lOdl&dcf  adt  iQoxt  &©if<a/p'  ©saaaaq  A ,^£taoQ  Y^alooqae  Ifla 


.a^oltrpA  to  tftXqa  XXao^t  XX la  aoXitg^O  oxrflO^"  ^TJiae  orft 


0a  I 

tof 


u 


,0^  *?8s  ,fi-sas  ,egs  tOse  ,s^isx  ,@vi 


1 j-  i,  j 


M«9i 


■»af« 


i ..j 


qq  . t lo . qo  - 

V-6dI  ...qq  ,sTOda  aafif  ' 
.cr  -©voefa  aa®^ 

'' 


310 


” Th.6  prini6  autlior  and  movar  of  the  universe,”  thought  Ac^uinas, 

”is  intelligence.  Therefore  the  last  end  of  the  universe  must  he 
the  good  of  the  intelligence,  and  that  is  truth.  Truth  then  must 
be  the  final  end  of  the  whole  universe.”  Happiness  consists  in  the 
perfect  activity  of  the  intellect,  and  the  end  of  all  "subsistent 
intelligences”  is  to  know  the  highest  universal,  Ens.  Being,  God. 

We  can  understand  how  Donne  must  have  been  attracted  by  this 
intellectual  doctrine;  in  his  Essays  igi  Divinity  he  even  places 
Aquinas  beside  Augustine,  calling  him,  as  he  addresses  himself  to 
God,  "that  other  instrument  and  engine  of  thine,  whom  Thou  hadst 
so  enabled  that  nothing  was  too  mineral  and  centrick  for  the  search 
and  reach  of  his  wit."^  But  Donne  learned  in  the  school  of 
affliction  and  anguish,  which  he  so  often  refers  to  as  the  best 
school  for  the  soul,  that  he  needed  another  blessedness  than  truth 
and  knowledge.  Thomism,  in  its  intellectualistic  interpretation 
of  the  world,  was  an  exposition,  under  Neo-Platonic  and 
Aristotelian  terms,  of  .the  Logos.  But  both  Augu.stine  and  Donne 
were  dissatisfied  with  the  impersonal  and  intellectual  conception 
of  God  in  the  Platonic  tradition.  In  Plato  we  may  find  God,  said 
Donne,  but  "without  a Christ."^  The  Word  become  flesh  and  living 
among  us,  partaking  of  our  miseries  and  frailties  and  sins, giving 
us  the  inexpressible  consolation  and  comfort  of  a personal  love 
and  sacrifice  for  us,  this  was  the  religion  of  Augustine  and  Donne.' 

^Quoted  by  Ramsay,  op.cit.  p.  286,  n.5. 

"Alford.  Ill,  47.  ^ ^ 

"Miss  Ramsay  has  noticed  this  similarity  between  Donne  and 
Augustine,  and  quotes  an  eloquent  passage  on  the  latter  from  Gaston 
Boissier.  op.  cit.  p.  252. 


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311 


They  desired, not  primarily  to  know  God,  but  to  rest  their  souls 
in  the  bosom  of  God,  in  the  bosom  of  Christ,  who  was  God  become 
humanity  and  therefore  full  of  the  sympathy  they  craved.  This  sense 
of  the  living  personality  of  God  and  of  Christ,  and  the  dependence 
of  his  o’.m  soul  upon  its  preciousness  in  the  sight  of  Christ,  is  the 
essence  of  Donne's  religious  experience. 

Humility  is  therefore  the  beginning  of  wisdom;  the 
consciousness  of  his  weakness  and  sin  and  misery  overwhelmed  Donne, 
but  he  desired  and  cultivated  this  feeling  in  order  to  intensify 
his  religious  longing.  Already  in  The  First  Anniversary  he  had 
expressed  the  need  of  some  transcendental  power  to  save  humanity 
from  itself.  His  anatomy  of  the  world  was  to  teach,  he  said, 

"that  except  thou  feed  (not  banquet)  on 
The  supernatural!  food.  Religion, 

Thy  better  Growth  growes  withered,  and  scant; 

Be  more  then  man,  or  thou'rt  lesse  then  an  Ant."-^ 


Therefore  he  was  ever  contemplating  death  in  its  most  repugnant 
aspects,  that  he  might  realize  how  poor  a thing  is  m.an,  how 
entirely  dependent  on  divine  power.  And  therefore,  too,  the 
humiliation  of  the  intellect  was  necessary,  lest  the  feeble  light 
of  the  reason  make  us  blind  to  the  greater  light  of  faith.  In  a 
sermon  preached  in  1684,  on  the  conversion  of  St.  Paul,  he  speaks 
of  the  light  which  struck  Paul  blind. 

"This  blindness  of  which  we  speak,"  he  says, 

"which  is  a sober  and  temperate  abstinence  from  the 
immoderate  study,  and  curious  knowledges  of  this 


^Grierson.  I,  237.  — Was 
recollecting  tne  last  page 


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312 


world,  this  holy  simplicity  of  the  soul,  is  not  a | 

darkness,  a dimness,  a stupidity  of  the  understanding,  I 

contracted  by  living  in  a corner,  it  is  not  an  idle 

retiring  into  a monastery,  or  into  a village,  or  a 

country  solitude,  it  is  not  a lazy  affectation  of 

ignorance;  not  darkness,  but  a greater  light,  must 

make  us  blind  . . . There  are  birds,  that  when  their 

eyes  are  sealed,  still  soar  up,  and  up,  till  they 

have  spent  all  their  strength.  Men  blinded  with 

the  lights  of  this  world,  soar  still  into  higher 

places,  or  higher  knowledges,  or  higher  opinions; 

but  the  light"^of  heaven  humbles  us,  and  lays  flat 

that  soul,  which  the  leaven  of  this  world  had 

puffed  and  swelled  up.”^ 


Donne's  religious  experience,  then,  was  a mystical  one, 
the  sense  of  his  dependence  on  the  love  and  grace  of  God  in  Christ. 
It  was  not  a rational  experience,  and,  though  he  sought  always  to 
make  it  reasonable  and  even  comprehensible,  he  had  to  recognize 
that  his  spiritual  life  was  beyond  the  power  of  reason  and  weakened 
by  a rationalistic  mode  of  thought.  He  belonged  to  the  anti- 
intellectual tradition  of  Augustine.  And  it  is  perhaps  partly  due 
to  Donne's  influence  on  the  religious  and  poetical  development  of 
Herbert  and  Vaughan,  that  we  find  in  them,  also,  a recognition  of 
this  dualism  of  faith  and  reason.  Herbert  was  hardly  a mystic;  but 
in  a poem  called  Divinitie  he  says: 


"As  men,  for  fear  the  starres  should  sleep  and  nod. 
And  trip  at  night,  have  spheres  suppli'd; 

As  if  a starre  were  duller  then  a clod. 

Which  knows  his  way  without  a guide: 

Just  so  the  other  heav'n  they  also  serve, 
Divinities  transcendent  skie: 

Which  with  the  edge  of  wit  they  out  and  carve . 

Reason  triumphs,  and  faith  lies  by  ...  . 


^Alford.  II,  307-8 


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313 


Then  burn  thy  Epicycles,  foolish  man; 

Break  all  thy  spheres,  and  save  thy  head. 
Faith  needs  no  staffs  of  flesh,  but  stoutly  can 


To  heav'n  alone  both  go  and  leade 


H 1 


But  Vaughan,  in  a poem  with  the  sceptical  title  Vanity  gfl  Spirit, 
has  explained  how  his  repeated  attempts  to  know  the  secrets  of  the 
world  and  of  himself  had  failed,  one  after  another,  until,  his 
intellect  exhausted,  he  gave  himself  up  to  the  mystical  experience 
which  can  be  complete  only  in  another  world. 

"Quite  spent  with  thoughts,  I left  my  cell,  and  lay 
Where  a shrill  spring  tun'd  to  the  early  day. 

I begg'd  here  long,  and  groan'd  to  know 
Who  gave  the  clouds  so  brave  a bow. 

Who  bent  the  spheres,  and  circled  in 
Corruption  with  this  glorious  ring; 

What  is  His  name,  and  how  I might 
Descry  some  part  of  His  great  light. 

I summon'd  Nature;  pierc'd  through  all  her  store; 

Broke  up  some  seals,  which  none  had  touch'd  before 
Her  womb,  her  bosom,  and  her  head. 

Where  all  her  secrets  lay  abed, 

I rifled  quite;  and  having  past 
Through  all  the  creatures,  came  at  last 
To  search  myself,  where  I did  find 
Traces,  and  sounds  of  a strange  kind. 

Here  of  this  mighty  spring  I found  some  drills. 

With  echoes  beaten  from  th'  eternal  hills. 

Weak  beams  and  fires  flash'd  to  my  sight. 

Like  a young  East,  or  moonshine  night. 

Which  show'd  me  in  a nook  cast  by 
A piece  of  much  antiquity. 

And  hieroglyphics  quite  dismember'd 
And  broken  letters  scarce  remember'd. 


much  joy'd 


— went 
out 


I took  them  up,  and  - 
T'  unite  those  pieces,  hoping  to  find 
The  mystery;  but  this  ne'er  done. 

That  little  light  I had  was  gone. 

It  griev'd  me  much.  At  last,  said  I, 
'Since  in  these  veils  my  eclips'd  eye 
May  not  approach  Thee  — for  at  night 
Who  can  have  commerce  with  the  light? 
I'll  disapparel,  and  to  buy 
But  one  half-glance,  most  gladly  die. 


about 


n2 


jThe  English  Works  qf  Gegrge  Herbert,  ed.  Palmer.  Ill,  97. 


Vaughan.  Henry.  Zoen^.  ed.  Chambers.  I,  57. 


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314 


III 

The  Metaphysical"  Style  as  an  Expression  of  Donne's  Mind 

We  have  seen  in  the  Introduction  to  this  study  how 
criticism  of  the  style  of  the  "Metaphysical"  poets  has  progressed 
from  the  theory  that  this  peculiar  style  was  a literary  fad  or 
affectation,  an  intellectual  gymnastic,  to  the  serious  attempt  to 
relate  it  in  some  way  to  the  manner  in  which  these  poets  understood 
the  world.  Johnson  and  Hallam  represent  the  earlier  theory,  and 
Courthope,  Grierson  and  Palmer  have  made  the  most  suggestive  con- 
tributions to  the  later  method.^  These  later  students  have  all 
insisted  that  the  "Metaphysical"  style  was  in  some  way  connected 
with  the  disintegration  of  Medieval  thought.  Courthope  says  this 
style  is  characterized  by  three  Medieval  modes  of  expression: 
paradox,  hyperbole  and  excess  of  metaphor;  elsewhere  he  says  that  in 
the  Renaissance  there  arose  "a  new  kind  of  Pyrrhonism"  which  made 
Medieval  philosophy  obsolete,  but  that  "many  poets,  in  their  ideal 
representations  of  Nature,  seized  upon  the  rich  materials  of  the 
old  and  ruined  philosophy  to  decorate  the  structures  which  they 
built  out  of  their  lawless  fancy.  On  such  foundations  rose  the 
school  of  metaphysical  wit,  of  which  the  earliest  and  most  remarkable 
example  is  furnished  in  the  poetry  of  John  Donne. Palmer,  on  the 
other  hand,  emphasizes  the  modern  quality  of  the  "Metaphysical" 
style,  and  finds  its  explanation  in  the  new  Renaissance  spirit,  its 

Jsee  above,  pp.  15-35. 

‘^Courthope,  Hist , of  Eng.  Poetry . Ill,  147-8. 


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315 


individualism,  its  spirit  of  rebellion  against  authority,  its 
introspection;  for  the  term  "metaphysical"  he  jfould  substitute  as 
more  accurate  and  illuminating,  the  term  "psychological." 

Grierson,  following  in  the  main  Courthope,  sees  however  also  in  this 
poetry  a surprising  modern  quality,  without  explaining  very 
definitely  the  relation  between  thought  and  style.  Admirable  as 
these  suggestions  are,  therefore,  they  remain  apparently  contra- 
dictory and  inconclusive. 

I do  not  intend  here  to  give  any  complete  account,  from 
either  the  historical  or  the  esthetic  point  of  view,  of  the 
"conceit"  in  Renaissance  poetry;  its  origins  were  too  remote  and 
the  explanation  of  its  popularity  is  too  complex.  My  one  purpose 
is  to  glance  briefly  at  Donne’s  use  of  it,  to  see  in  what  way  the 
"conceit"  was  made  expressive  of  his  complex  nature,  and  thus  not 
only  to  appreciate  better  the  sincerity  of  his  mode  of  expression, 
but,  perhaps,  to  come  to  a more  definite  conception  of  what  is 
medieval  and  what  is  modern  in  his  style,  both  in  prose  and  poetry. 

The  "conceit,"  everyone  knows,  was  common  in  English 
poetry  before  Donne.  He  appropriated  it  and  gave  it  that  peculiar 
quality  and  power  which  was  his  own,  but  which  influenced  his 


admiring  successors  to  the  extent  of  forming  a poetical  school. 
Professor  Alden  has  given  a definition  of  the  "conceit,"  based  on  an 
analysis  of  it  in  Sidney  and  Shakespeare;  "a  conceit  is  the 
elaboration  of  a verbal  or  an  imaginative  figure,  or  the  substitutic 
of  a logical  for  an  imaginative  figure,  with  so  considerable  a use 
of  an  intellectual  process  as  to  take  precedence,  at  least  for  the 


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316 


moment,  of  the  normal  poetic  process."^  This  definition  expresses 

admirably  also  that  dualism  of  Donne's  nature  which  heightened 

the  disharmony  between  his  intellect  and  that  poetic  and  mystical 

experience  out  of  which  his  poetry  was  made.  His  constant  return 

upon  himself,  his  study  of  his  own  feelings  and  emotions,  and  his 

attempts  to  state  them  in  intellectual  terms,  all  this  introspection 

and  analysis  is  as  apparent  in  his  sermons  as  in  his  verse.  It  is 

especially  marked  in  Donne  because  of  the  imperfect  harmony  between 

the  intellectual  and  poetic  sides  of  his  nature.  Schelling  coined 

an  illuminating  phrase  when  he  said  that  "no  one,  excepting 

Shakespeare.  . . has  done  so  much  to  develop  intellectualized 

2 

emotion  in  the  Elizabethan  lyric  as  John  Donne." 

This  intellectuality,  or  "wit,"  as  it  was  then  called,  of 
Donne's  poetry  and  prose  appears  in  other  ways  than  the  "conceit"; 
it  is  sometimes  paradox,  sometimes  hyperbole,  sometimes  a plain  and 
straightforward  reasoning  about  his  subject.  But  in  its  most 
characteristic  form  it  is  a 83rmbolism,  a rendering  of  spiritual  or 
emotional  experience  in  terms  apprehensible,  not  to  sense  or 
imagination  primarily,  but  to  the  intellect.  We  may  quote  one  of 
his  most  daring,  yet  successful,  conceits  in  his  early  verse,  the 
familiar  one  of  the  compass.  It  expresses  a transcendental  con- 
'ception  of  the  unity  of  two  souls  in  love: 

"But  we  by  a love,  so  much  refin'd. 

That  our  selves  know  not  what  it  is. 

Inter-assured  of  the  mind. 

Care  lesse,  eyes,  lips,  and  hands  to  misse. 


^Alden,  Raymond  Macdonald,  The  Lyrical  Conceit  of  the  Elizabethans,, 
in  Studies  in  Philology.  Vol.  XlV  (I9l7)  ^ 1J7~. 

^Schelling,  A Book  of  Elizabethan  Lyrics.  Boston  (1895).  Intro,- 


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317 


Our  two  soules  therefore,  which  are  one, 
Though  I must  goe,  endure  not  yet 

A breach,  but  an  expansion. 

Like  gold  to  ayery  thinnesse  beate. 

If  they  be  two,  they  are  two  so 
As  stiffs  twin  compasses  are  two, 

Thy  soule  the  fixt  foot,  makes  no  show 
To  move,  but  doth,  if  the 'other  doe. 

And  though  it  in  the  center  sit. 

Yet  when  the  other  far  doth  rome. 

It  leanes,  and  hearkens  after  it. 

And  grows s erect,  as  that  comes  home. 

Such  wilt  thou  be  to  mes,  who  must 
Like  th' other  foot,  obliquely  runne; 

Thy  firmnes  makes  my  circle  just. 

And  makes  me  end,  where  I begunne.”^ 


By  using  the  "conceit,"  an  intellectual  and  impersonal 
mode  of  expression,  to  communicate  his  most  intensely  personal, 
inward  and  mystical  feelings,  Donne  gave  it  imaginative  and  poetic 
power.  The  concepts  of  the  intellect  became  the  symbols  of 
inexpressible  spiritual  experience.  The  recent  editor  of  Donne's 
prose,  Mr.  Logan  Pearsall  Smith,  after  reading  and  re-reading  his 
volumes  of  sermons,  speaks  of  this  mysticism,  this  "something 
baffling  which  still  eludes  our  last  analysis.  Reading  these  old 
hortatory  and  dogmatic  pages,  the  thought  suggests  itself  that 
Donne  is  often  saying  something  else,  something  poignant  and 
personal,  and  yet,  in  the  end,  incommunicable  to  us."^  Only  long 
reading,  perhaps,  can  give  us  the  full  sense  of  this  incommunicable 
feeling  beneath  some  of  the  apparently  arid  discussions  in  the  ser- 


duction.  xxiii. 
iorierson.  I,  50. 

'^Smith,  Logan  Pearsall,  Donne ' s Sermons.  Oxford  (1920)  . 
Introduction,  xxxv. 


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318 


mens.  In  his  labor  to  express  it  he  draws  upon  all  life  and  all 
knowledge,  upon  the  most  homely  matters  of  daily  experience  as  well 
as  upon  the  distinctions  of  the  Scholastic  philosophy.  It  is  a 
great  error  to  represent  Donne’s  mind  as  always  preoccupied  with 
the  subtleties  of  Medieval  thought.  He  was  really  preoccupied  with 
the  subtleties  of  his  own  soul.  Donne  preached  out  of  his  own 
experience,  as  he  had  startled  his  contemporaries,  and  all  his 
understanding  readers  since,  by  the  sincerity  of  his  poetry  written 
out  of  his  own  experience.  No  one  has  looked  more  directly  upon 
the  realities  of  life,  no  one  has  had  his  vision  of  reality  less 
impeded  by  tradition,  than  Donne.  But  in  the  expression  of  even 
the  most  subtle,  evanescent  or  mystical  phases  of  his  experience, 
he  put  it  into  intellectual  terms,  into’ "conceits. ” There  is  a 
truth,  in  spite  of  its  perverse  and  unsympathetic  statement,  in  the 
comment  of  Macdonald:  "The  central  thought  of  Dr.  Donne  is  nearly 

sure  to  be  just:  the  subordinate  thoughts  by  means  of  which  he 
unfolds  it  are  often  grotesque,  and  so  wildly  associated  as  to 
remind  one  of  the  lawlessness  of  a dream,  wherein  mere  suggestion 
without  choice  or  fitness  rules  the  sequence."^ 

To  illustrate  this  symbolical  value  of  the  "conceit"  in 
Donne’s  sermons  I shall  quote  first  a passage  in  which  the  "conceits" 
are  called  "images,"  and  in  which  there  is  no  borrowing  from 
Medieval  philosophy;  the  real  subject  is  transcendental,  but  is 
evoked  by  a succession  of  not  unfamiliar  metaphors  and  symbols. 

"No  image,  but  the  image  of  God,  can  fit  our 
soul;  every  other  seal  is  too  narrow,  too  shallow 

Macdonald,  George,  England’s  Antiphon,  N.Y.  (n.d.).  p.ll4. 


■ ■'  f.s  .-rJ  he  co'ku  ..erp  _•«,  7f  .V  «.'f  1 

Xfari.  *■*  SOQSZI^^**  lo  «l»t)m-^l3aoC  j.iow  o<(t  do<la,^,»5JS«»i,Kj 

g;- <Tcf;ojgXz^,  ■ zstarodca  »ti#  •acitfeoijjit 

:Jin  cefe;  i. 'aaztcrC  ^n»»9iq»T  i»J  tdzie  ' 

f<WZA  «,»  sa  . to  •ezt^stgU  eisl7/, 

i J.  i . . -<i  . ''  - ■^.  *^-  ^ 


; im  Ui'<  te  iif3  ?f;^a  ijwc'»£d  Jo  seltf-eis^cfi/o - erii . 

: aJi  Z-Ij  trj  .•'i4T*io<cT.».%»s  ii;f  h»<<  erf  :,»b*Z*w»». 

— - , A tc«i  : *- 


nft?vii»  r-»5<^.irf  fe  X*li*uuki,n3  .lUiew  sniiaijMein^ 

"P  » ;iOT  Jr*  m «a»ti8<j*e  ~»e  stti^o  ai»d 

««'  V-t.-r'esv  \0  1,0 •-.(  ».«  vC  .*tif  "iiQotti^x.efif 

„ rteie>=ka»  V’  ffl  »f8,  ....raaC  rf 


A'' 


,»oneiiiat--5  -itfl  sB^aoijr  isi'ztfta  io  -asodenaeo  .oittliM  sjlf  - 

““  “ ' " ^ 


^ ;r'»  ^?;*/^05Xl5tiTi  o<jsiU' 


64-1  oiJ-  s-  to  "ajfxqa  r,i^,sUert 

(E  . ■ - . . 


.X-iH'-a  tl  i-vaoC  ,.-i0  suj-  :M*itoJJoal(  ?si.  j|(t*moo 


^0  6ui«,Trf  !a.1>,j<jilrf-  WiMtitiorfue  »rf»  :#«ot  sd  o ” slufl 


' f , ’r 

^ w (.a  a.  . 3i".-  ^ fc8a  „.?vf9»Jgj5t  -s^to  axe.'li  aKoijjj/ 

!i  tfa«re-r-»a  ^i*r  'atoivi-,  .(*aext  . te  s»*oae«i.pi  „rfj  W *ni)"6oW 

V®*  ^ *"**®^'*Mi^  lo.aolQ^o  tu^dH 


Jo  iufln7  UtllodziX*  ^tiU  ^ ^ 

9d:  Setoff  ai  a§«a«aq  * s#owp  XXj»ilo.I  aoparroB  a‘»^fi  - 


:cfl!3rcT3o<f  on  eX  Joliih  at  tojs 


.■■i 


ai  -ujC  tis^n^9c r ^^7;t  >i  JosQtfiia  X^d<x  *j£iJ  ;*^nqomoi.i^ff  r^voi^o^i 
.tXooifc^-  IkiTA  a?  iu6 f £ iaiola;;  ^oa  to  itoiooscoa/B  o X>eXov,<^ 

' rf!l  , \ . 

f tv<^X  oH* 

•orXi^k  OOt  .woiiBti  ocjf  ai  f^os 


-,^.- 


o. 


5.  • - . -ii  * .. 


lirrwr. 


319 


for  it.  The  magistrate  is  sealed  with  the  Lion: 
the  Wolf  will  not  fit  that  seal:  the  magistrate 
hath  a power  in  his  hand,  hut  not  oppression. 

Princes  are  sealed  with  the  Crown:  the  Mitre 
will  not  fit  that  seal.  Powerfully,  and 
graciously  they  protect  the  Church,  and  are 
supream  heads  of  the  Church;  hut  they  minister 
not  the  Sacraments  of  the  Church;  they  give 
preferments;  hut  they  give  not  the  capacitie 
of  preferments:  they  give  order  who  shall  have, 
hut  they  have  not  Orders  hy  which  they  are 
enabled  to  have  that  they  have.  Men  of  inferior 
and  laborious  callings  in  the  world  are  sealed 
with  the  Crosse : a Rose . or  a hunch  of  Grape s 
will  not  answer  that  seal:  ease  and  plentie  in 
age  must  not  he  looked  for  without  crosses,  and 
labour,  and  Industrie  in  youth.  All  men.  Prince, 
and  people;  Clergie,  and  Magistrate,  are  sealed 
with  the  image  of  God,  with  a conformitie  to 
him;  and  worldly  seals  will  not  answer  that, 
nor  fill  up  that  seal.  We  should  wonder  to  see 
a mother  in  the  midst  of  many  sweet  children, passing 
her  time  in  making  babies  and  puppets  for  her  own 
delight.  We  should  wonder  to  see  a man,  whose 
chambers  and  galleries  were  full  of  curious  master- 
pieces, thrust  in  a village  fayre,  to  look  upon 
sixpenie  pictures,  & three -farthing  prints.  We 
have  all  the  image  of  God  at  home;  and  we  all  make 
babies,  fancies  of  honour  in  our  ambitions.  The 
masterpiece  is  our  own,  in  our  o’wn  bosome;  and  we 
thTust  in  countrey  fayre s,  that  is,  we  endure  the 
distempers  of  any  unseasonable  weather,  in  night- 
journeys  and  watchings;  we  endure  the  oppositions, 
and  scorns,  and  triumphs  of  a rivall,  and  competitour, 
that  seeks  with  us,  and  shares  with  us.  We  endure 
the  guiltinesse  and  reproach  of  having  deceived  the 
trust  which  a confident  friend  reposes  in  us,  and 
solicit  his  wife  or  daughter.  We  endure  the  decay 
of  fortune  of  bodie,  of  soul,  of  honour,  to  possesse 
lovers  pictures;  pictures  that  are  not  originals, 
not  made  by  that  hand  of  God,  Nature;  but  artificial! 
beauties:  and  for  that  bodie  we  give  a soul;  and  for 
that  drug,  which  might  have  been  bought  where  they 
bought  it,  for  a shilling,  we  give  an  estate.  The 
image  of  God  is  more  worth  then  all  substances;  and 
we  give  it  for  colours,  for  dreams,  for  shadows. 


We  may  compare  the  method  of  this  passage,  which  seems  to  the  modern 


^Donne  * s Se rmons . ed.  Smith.  p.l53. 


■vH 


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tl  « to  ,jig,t^  j»  fgaBotO  arf#  d^iir 

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t^ftir^lt^q  c^  .-sxrjijrd  .Xtrc*  ^0  ,#XXod  lo^-affxr:^•ral  Vo 
. ,^^.*kAl’^tx<>  tCM  9ZS  fet5Xi?doXq  ; 99TtjkbIa  aqs^bX 

tud  ^if'w-'J'AZ  *toO  "Vo  •X’ltdd  jaA^  vd  dhac  ^da 
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aijdfi  ajt^  ikd^im  joidw  ,11/^  i 

.w  fiB  aril  i^nlX  It  da  a VoV  ,irf  ^ > *W - 

■ ‘^r?  c^qg'Btfys  XXi  Jiofl:rNd<txow  ezom  al  bpiuW  ^zitt 
• 9^0S^iit  >0-  <SflSS  ^iJb  TfO^  I ^ 


1^ 


rtSrSfc;^  ad^  C^  ac-0«ft  doXas*  ,?;;^aaBq  eixf^  Vo  idd^W*  sdX  dTa^ctioo  YJWivo^?j 

. ' . 


mi 


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.£^X,V  .iiti'j^  .be  ;aflc^erraa  - * at^ioC^ 


320 


reader  comparatively  simple  and  natural,  with  another,  in  which 
Donne  uses  in  a similar  manner  symbols  which  are  antiquated  to  us: 


"One  of  the  most  convenient  Hieroglyphicks  of 
God,  is  a Circle;  and  a Circle  is  endlesse;  whom 
God  loves,  hee  loves  to  the  end:  and  not  onely  to 
their  own  end,  to  their  death,  but  to  his  end,  and 
his  end  is,  that  he  might  love  them  still.  His 
hailestones,  and  his  thunderbolts,  and  his  showres 
of  bloud  (emblemes  and  instruments  of  his  Judgements) 
fall  downe  in  a direct  line,  and  affect  and  strike 
some  one  person,  or  place:  His  Sun,  and  Moone,  and 

Starres,  (Emblemes  and  Instruments  of  his  Blessings) 
move  circularly,  and  communicate  themselves  to  all. 
His  Church  is  his  chariot;  in  that,  he  moves  more 
gloriously,  then  in  the  Sun;  as  much  more,  as  his 
begotten  Son  exceeds  hie  created  Sun,  and  his  Son 
of  glory,  and  of  his  right  hand,  the  Sun  of  the 
firmament;  and  this  Church,  his  chariot,  moves  in 
that  communicable  motion,  circularly;  It  began  in 
the  East,  it  came  to  us,  and  is  passing  new,  shining 
out  no?/,  in  the  farthest  West."^ 


Donne’s  experience  in  the  second  passage  is  as  comprehensible  to  us 
as  that  in  the  first,  but  the  imagery  gives  it  a Medieval  flavor. 

In  conclusion  I shall  quote  two  characteristic  passages 
from  his  Divine  Poems . both  illustrating  his  feeling  of  dependence 
on  God  for  forgiveness,  strength  and  blessedness.  We  know  how  deep 
that  feeling  was  in  Donne,  and  we  cannot  doubt  the  sincerity  of  even 
such  "conceited"  verse  as  the  beginning  of  The  Litanie : 


"Father  of  Heaven,  and  him,  by  whom 
It,  and  us  for  it,  and  all  else,  for  us 
Thou  madest,  and  govern ’st  ever,  come 
And  re-create  mee,  now  growne  ruinous: 

My  heart  is  by  dejection,  clay. 

And  by  se If e -murder , red. 

From  this  red  earth,  0 Father,  purge  away 
All  vicious  tinctures,  that  new  fashioned 
I may  rise  up  from  death, before  I ’am  dead."^ 


Jlbid.  p.  134. 
‘^Grierson.  I,  338. 


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•'a  ■••'•  ;0 


321 


In  the  concluding  stanzas  of  his  Hymne  to  God,  mv  God,  in  my 
sicknesse . the  ”conceit”  is  raised  almost  to  sublimity  by  its 
intenseness: 


”We  thinke  that  Paradise  and  Calyarie, 

Christs  Crosse,  and  Adams  tree,  stood  in  one  place; 
Looks  Lord,  and  finds  both  Adams  mst  in  ms; 

As  ths  first  Adams  sweat  surrounds  my  face, 

May  the  last  Adams  blood  my  soule  embrace. 

So,  in  his  purple  wrapp'd  receive  mee  Lord, 

By  these  his  thornes  give  me  his  other  Crowne; 

And  as  to  others  soules  I preach'd  thy  word. 

Be  this  my  Text,  my  Sermon  to  mine  owne, 

Therfore  that  he  may  raise  the  Lord  Thro'ws  down."l 


The  style  of  Donne,  then,  was  an  expression  of  his  mind. 

He  was  a "psychological"  poet  in  the  sense  that  he  found  his 
poetical  material  in  his  oto  experience;  his  poetry,  like  his  ser- 
mons, is  introspective.  The  old  term  "metaphysical"  is  more  diffi- 
cult to  justify.  If  it  is  intended  to  signify  a poet  expounding: 
Medieval  philosophy,  or  any  philosophy,  it  is  not  applicable  to 
Donne;  he  expounded  no  system,  he  was  not  a philosophical  poet  in 
the  sense  that  Lucretius  was,  or  Sir  John  Davies,  his  contemporary. 
If  by  the  epithet  we  mean  only  that  Donne  used,  in  his  "conceits," 
some  of  the  terms  and  distinctions  of  Medieval  thought,  it  may  be 
admitted  to  be  partially  applicable,  though  misleading  in  its 
emphasis.  Donne  took  his  imagery  wherever  he  found  it  — from 
Renaissance  science,  from  daily  life,  or  from  the  Church  Fathers  or 
the  disquisitions  of  the  Schools.  He  used  imagery  understood  by  the 
learned  man  of  his  time.  But  his  purpose  was  to  express  his  inner 


^Ibid.  I,  368. 


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333 


self,  his  moods,  whims,  emotions,  aspirations,  in  their  infinite 
complexity  and  subtlety.  The  genuineness  of  his  poetic  and 
religious  nature  shines  through  the  crabbed  verse  and  tortured 
"conceits.”  He  is  therefore  modern,  because  he  is  the  contemporary 
with  whomsoever  can  understand  and  share  his  experiences.  But  he 
is  modern  in  a more  special  sense,  in  that  his  religious  experience 
is  neither  Classical  nor  Medieval  in  nature,  but  like  that  of  "the 
first  of  the  moderns,"  his  master  Augustine. 


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4 


‘A 


333 


CONCLUSION 

The  purpose  of  these  chapters  has  been  to  study  the 
scepticism  which  accompanied  the  individualistic  spirit  of  the 
Renaissance.  But  scepticism  is  a dissolvent.  Our  attention  has 
throughout  been  called  away  from  the  creative  energy  which  made  the 
period  so  astonishingly  full  of  great  achievements  in  literature  and 
art,  and  of  great  personalities  in  action.  The  splendor  of  the 
Renaissance  is  not  reflected  in  the  pages  of  this  study.  And  yet 
it  may  be  serviceable  to  remember  that,  for  all  its  splendor  and 
greatness  of  imagination,  the  Renaissance  v?as  truly  alive  with 
intellectual  conflict,  that  it  was  full  of  new  thought  and 
audacious  theorizing,  that  traditions  had  to  defend  their  ground 
inch  by  inch.  It  is  an  error  to  see  in  the  Renaissance  merely  a 
great  wave  of  enthusiasm  and  power,  which  united  all  men  in  common 
ideals  and  purposes.  A closer  view  reveals  a multiplicity  of 
factions,  adherents  of  opposing  traditions,  sharp  clashes  of  ideals 
and  temperaments.  This  is  no  doubt  to  some  extent  true  of  every 
age,  and  literary  history  should  recognize  more  fully  than  it  has 
done  this  dramatic  element  in  the  history  of  thought.  But  it  is 
especially  true  of  the  Renaissance,  an  era  of  individualism,  marked 
by  constant  new  discovery  both  of  the  physical  world  and  of  the 
history  and  nature  of  man  himself.  And  the  Renaissance  was  an  age 
of  intellectual  readjustment  as  well  as  of  conflict.  For 
individualism  means  precisely  that  tradition  has  lost  its  authority, 
and  that  it  must  constantly  be  modified  by  the  individual  to  accord 
with  his  new  experience  and  knowledge.  The  importance  of  this 


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' ».Ti  Xie  T«:-u:35i  otf ' ©Xd:i*ebiT^ee  n 


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' .-  •»  ”i 

■•  #1  'll  •' 


324 


intellectual  conflict  and  readjustment  is  being  recognized  more  and 
more  by  students  of  the  English  Renaissance.  The  application  of  it 
to  the  greatest  English  poet  of  the  seventeenth  century  has  been 
suggested  in  a new  essay  just  from  the  press. 


’•Milton's  case  was  not  unique,”  writes 
Professor  C.  A.  Moore.  "Disturbed,  like  many  other 
thoughtful  men  of  the  seventeenth  century,  by  the 
new  train  of  ideas  growing  out  of  scientific  dis- 
covery, by  the  liberal  doctrines  of  neo-Platonic 
philosophy,  by  various  forms  of  mysticism,  and  by 
other  teaching  that  either  openly  contradicted 
the  Christian  dogma  or  at  least  required  compromise 
and  adjustment,  he  endeavored  to  satisfy  the  demands 
of  his  own  intellectual  conscience  by  harmonizing 
the  ancient  creed  with  various  liberal  doctrines, 
some  of  which  in  the  end  gave  rise  to  the  skepticism 
of  the  eighteenth  century.  His  endeavor  to  pour  the 
new  wine  into  the  old  bottle  did  not  succeed."^ 


Whether  or  not  one  agrees  with  the  conclusions  of  Mr.  Moore,  his 
emphasis  on  the  intellectual  conflict  in  the  period  is  one  of  the 
symptoms  of  a general  tendency  among  students  of  literature. 

As  Medievalism  affirmed  in  its  constructive  effort  an 
ideal  exactly  opposite  to  the  general  spirit  of  the  Renaissance,  it 
forms  the  proper  point  of  departure  in  a study  of  the  disintegrating 
and  sceptical  element  in  the  later  period.  The  Renaissance  was  in 
many  respects  consciously  hostile  towards  the  Middle  Ages,  in  spite 
of  its  great  indebtedness  to  it.  The  conflict  between  individualism 
and  the  universal  ideals  of  Medievalism  had,  in  fact,  already 
reached  its  height  in  the  Middle  Ages;  the  Renaissance  began  in  the 
thirteenth  century.  In  studying  the  opposition  between  the 
Medieval  and  the  Renaissance  spirit,  therefore,  we  must  not  seek  to 


^Moore,  C.A.,  The  Conclusion  of  Paradise  Lost , PMLA  (March, 1921) . 
p.  12. 


1 ins  a'rnaftVkKnsnvsT  9.1 irWiWo>  UMosXIsjf? 


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V ..  'f*^**'^*  ? *!'’'-,  to  «X«»tf  XsMsTiTO  ,«*f*  fc/ie 

'*»*'  «•<»*  *4«x«  ‘ttsipa 

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335 


confine  each  within  chronological  limits,  hut  study  them  as  they  co- 
existed from  the  Middle  Ages  down  through  the  seventeenth  century, 
and  even  later.  For  as  the  Renaissance  did  not  begin  in  1453  or 
1492  or  at  any  other  ascertainable  date,  so  neither  has  Medievalism 
ever  completely  disappeared. 

The  great  constructive  effort  of  the  Middle  Ages  is  per- 
haps not  sufficiently  appreciated  in  our  day;  we  see  it  through  the 
eyes  of  the  Renaissance,  as  a great  heresy.  But  it  was  a noble 
attempt  to  organize  civilization  in  a permanent,  universal  and 
final  manner.  The  dreams  of  a universal  church,  of  a universal 
empire,  and  of  a final  formulation  of  truth  in  a series  of  numbered 
chapters,  sections  and  paragraphs,  were  all  expressions  of  the 
desire  of  human  nature  for  something  which  shall  endure,  something 
in  which  it  may  find  stability  and  order  and  rest  and  peace.  This 
impulse  and  desire  of  the  individual  to  seek  the  over-individual  or 
universal  expresses  itself  in  all  the  idealistic  movements,  whether 
in  philosophy  or  in  religion  or  in  the  social  order.  But  the 
Medieval  attempt  to  satisfy  this  desire  failed,  partly  because  it 
was  too  rigid  and  recognized  too  little  that  other  demand  of  human 
nature  for  liberty  of  action  and  thought,  and  partly  because  it  was 
too  exclusively  rational.  To  apply  the  old  military  maxim,  reason 
has  constructed  nothing  which  reason  cannot  destroy.  Therefore  the 
revival  of  individualism  and  the  disintegration  of  Medievalism  was 
marked  by  extensive  sceptical  movements. 

In  looking  back  over  this  survey  of  scepticism  in  the 
Renaissance,  we  may  perhaps  roughly  classify  three  kinds,  directed 
against  the  church  and  the  historical  element  in  the  Christian 


<1/^ 


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336 


religion,  the  traditional  philosophy  of  the  social  order,  and  the 
philosophical  conception  of  a demonstrable  absolute  truth.  These 
three  kinds  of  scepticism  appear  sometimes  together  reinforcing  one 
another,  sometimes  even  in  conflict  with  one  another,  sometimes 
unrelated  to  one  another.  They  appear  in  varying  degrees,  from 
moderate  caution  to  outspoken  defiance  of  authority.  But  they  have 
all  contributed  something  to  modern  thought. 

The  attack  on  historical  Christianity  was  first  stimulated 
by  the  new  contact  with  the  Jews  and  the  Mohammedans  in  the 
thirteenth  century.  From  that  time  on,  especially  in  Italy, unbelief 
constantly  increased,  and  in  the  sixteenth  century  spread  over 
Europe.  Deism  was  a reconstructive  effort,  intended  to  base 
essential  religion  more  solidly  on  reason  instead  of  on  revelation. 
It  had  its  period  of  success,  when  it  served,  no  doubt,  a useful 
and  valuable  purpose,  but  in  its  turn  it  succumbed  later  to  a more 
thorough-going  philosophical  scepticism.  Another  extremely  impor- 
tant aspect  of  this  religious  dissent  is  the  surprisingly  strong 
development  of  Arianism  in  northern  Europe  in  the  sixteenth  century, 
a development  which  was  forcibly  suppressed  by  the  powerful 
Protestant  sects  and  has  been  somewhat  obscured  in  history  ever 
since.  We  can  only  surmise  what  the  intellectual  history  of  Europe 
would  have  been  had  there  been  real  freedom  of  thought  in  Protestant 
Europe  in  the  sixteenth  century.  Finally,  the  sectarianism  of  the 
Protestant  movement,  the  exhaustion  of  fanaticism  in  religious  and 
semi-religious  wars,  led  to  a recognition  of  the  necessity  of 
tolerance.  But  the  new  conception  of  tolerance  owed  something  also, 
as  we  have  seen  in  the  case  of  the  liberal  English  churchmen  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  to  that  weakening  of  confidence  in  the  reason 


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327 

which  was  one  general  result  of  Renaissance  philosophical 
scepticism. 

Perhaps  the  Medieval  ideal  of  a universal  empire  received 
its  final  blow  in  the  rise  of  national  feeling  at  the  time  of  the 
Renaissance.  That  subject  lies  outside  of  this  thesis.  But  the 
ideal  of  an  ethical  and  political  order  based  on  a universal  and 
rational  Law  of  Nature  was  widely  questioned  in  the  Renaissance.  It 
was  disregarded  and  contradicted  in  the  real-politilc  of  Machiavelli. 
It  was  directly  attacked  by  the  sceptical  "libertines,"  who  opposed 
to  its  rationalism  another  "nature"  of  impulse  and  appetite. 

Philosophical  scepticism,  that  is,  the  doubt  whether 
reason  can  know  the  final  truth,  appeared  in  various  forms  through- 
out the  period  we  have  studied.  In  the  Middle  Ages  it  took  the  form 
of  Nominalism  in  opposition  to  Realism.  And,  very  significantly, 
this  Nominalistic  school  showed  a ready  tendency  towards  mysticism. 
In  the  Renaissance,  with  the  revival  of  Sextus  Em.piricus  and  Greek 
scepticism,  the  criticism  of  the  methods  of  knowledge  began  anew  on 
a new  basis  and  with  the  most  far-reaching  results  on  modern 
thought.  The  general  scepticism  made  the  problem  of  knowledge  the 
foremost  philosophical  problem  in  the  seventeenth  century,  from 
Bacon  and  Descartes  to  Locke.  But  it  had  also  a m.ore  direct 
influence  on  literature  and  popular  thought,  especially  through 
Montaigne.  For  Montaigne  was  the  great  master  of  the  sceptical 
naturalists  of  the  Renaissance  and  seventeenth  century,  both  in 
France  and  England.  At  the  same  time  there  were  those  who  in 
spiritual  insight  went  beyond  him,  but  whose  youthful  experience  as 
his  disciples  nevertheless  profoundly  influenced  their  religious 
life  later.  Of  these  were  Pascal  and,  I believe,  John  Donne.  Thus 


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328 


we  have  again  in  the  seventeenth  century  that  approach  of  mysticism 
and  scepticism  which  we  noted  in  the  Middle  Ages;  it  appears  not 
only  in  Donne,  hut  in  a sense  also  in  Sir  Thomas  Browne  and 
Glanvill.  Glanvill  and  his  fellows  in  the  Royal  Society  were  there- 
fore continuing  an  earlier  development  when  they  met  the  full  force 
of  the  dogmatic  materialism  of  the  new  science  by  a recourse  to 
philosophical  scepticism. 

Thus  in  the  Renaissance  was  prepared  for  us  that  world  of 
tolerance  and  doubt  which  we  regard  as  peculiarly  modern.  The 
audacities  of  sixteenth  century  heresy  have  become  the  commonplaces 
of  our  speech.  We  have  made  a platitude  of  Tennyson's  summary  of 
the  history  of  thought: 

Our  little  systems  have  their  day. 

They  have  their  day  and  cease  to  be. 

We  are  not  astonished  at  the  paradox  of  a critic,  who  is  by  this 
dualism  of  his  own  thought  an  especially  sympathetic  critic  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  when  he  says  that  "insight  and  scepticism  are 
the  two  arms,  the  positive  and  negative  aspects,  so  to  speak,  of 
truth. Not  only  in  its  philosophy  and  religion,  but  in  its 
esthetics  and  poetry,  this  reaction  against  rationalism  is  one  of 
the  fundamental  characteristics  of  the  modern  mind.  The  rationalism 
of  Neo-classicism  was  intimately  connected  with  that  philosophical 
and  religious  rationalism  which  continued  from  the  Middle  Ages  into 
the  Renaissance  and  seventeenth  century.  "Rien  n'est  beau  que  le 
vrai,"  wrote  Boileau. 


^More,  Paul  Elmer,  The  Drift  of  Romanticism,  Boston (1S13) . p.  272. 


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’’Aimez  done  la  raison:  que  toujours  vos  ecrits 
Empruntent  d'elle  seule  et  leur  lustre  et  leur  prix.” 

We  are  so  far  removed  from  this  conception  of  art  that  we  cannot 
even  understand  it  justly,  exactly  as  we  consider  Thomas  Aquinas  an 
antiquated  and  unprofitable  theologian  and  philosopher.  In  the  late 
Middle  Ages  it  became  customary  to  call  the  philosophy  of  Aquinas 
the  via  anti qua  and  the  more  sceptical  thought  of  Occam  the  via 
mode rna.  The  terms  are  still  applicable.  As  the  modern  way  to 
religion,  according  to  Carlyle,  lies  through  the  "centre  of  indif- 
ference," so  the  modern  way  to  truth  lies,  in  a far  deeper  sense 
than  the  Nominalists  understood,  through  doubt.  Along  that  darkened 
path  the  modern  world  is  travailing  in  confusion  and  pain. 


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BIBLIOGRAPHY 


330 


It  is  manifestly  impossible  to  give  an  exhaustive  list  of 
either  primary  or  secondary  sources  on  this  subject.  This  list  is 
rather  a bibliography  of  bibliographies,  being  restricted  to  the 
more  valuable  works  which  give  a survey  of  the  thought  of  the 
Renaissance  and  seventeenth  century,  and  to  such  other  works  as 
have  valuable  bibliographical  information. 


Allbutt,  Thomas  Clifford,  Science  and  Medieval  Thought . London(1901) 
Bibliography,  pp. 10-13. 

British  Museum,  Subject  Index  of  Modern  Works , 1881-1900,  London 
(1902).  3 vols.  Continuations  to  1915,  3 vols. 

Burckhardt,  Jacob,  The  Civilization  of  the  Renaissance  in  Italy. 
trans.  Middlemore,  London (1909) . 

Bury,  J.B.,  A History  of  Freedom  of  Thought.  New  York (1913) . Brief 
bibliography,  p.253. 

Cairns,  John,  Unbelief  in  the  Eighteenth  Century,  Edinburgh  (1881) . 
Lecture  II  deals  with  "Unbelief  in  the  Seventeenth 
Century. " 

Carriers,  Moritz,  Die  nhilosonhische  We Itanschauung  der  Re format ion- 
zeit . 2nd  ed., Leipzig  (1887)^  2 vols.  The  work  of  a 
Hegelian;  no  bibliographical  information. 

Charbonnel,  J. Roger,  La  Pensee  Italienne  au  XVIe  Siecle  et  le 

C our ant  Libertin,  Paris  (1919) . Extensive  bibliography, 
pp.O-UU. 

Courthope,  W.J.,  A History  of  English  Poetry.  London  (1895-1910) . 

Dilthey,  Wilhelm,  Weltanschauung  und  Analyse  des  Menschen  Seit 

Renaissance  und  Reformation.  Leipzig  (1914).  Republica- 
tion of  valuable  articles  contributed  to  Archiv  fur 
Geschichte  der  Philosophie  between  1890  and  1900. 

De  Rerausat,  Charles,  Histolre  de  la  Philosouhie  en  Angleterre  deouis 
Bacon  .iusqu*a  Locke.  2nd  ed., Paris  (T87  5).  2 vols.  The 
most  complete  survey  of  English  philosophy  in  the  seven- 
teenth century. 

De  Wulf , M. , Histoire  de  la  Philosophie  M^di^vale . 4th  ed. , Paris 
(1912)  . Be*st  guide  to  the  period;  extensive  bibliogra- 
phies throughout. 


^ TJl  ^ . 


a TH<?AH50I  i€I3 


"Jo  *a-ir  o?  ?Xi:ff<aoqpKl -'^y  Hgr 

r^X  ?-Zr  BtcJ  »^XC4f  Ac  to  V*u^tio 

J . (t^  6>tori  tsdJO  aoi;«  cJ  bnn  *V‘twXfloo  ff4‘Jtr«45*ds»V4ft- Xta*  • 

L • ■aea^^io'jxii  r^otrfqjBx^isxxcfitf  xcrf*>X4T^^^4^  ' 


'(lQ€‘i  )coXi!oJ  ii^M9^  y.<igyij3LB  ^Xtotl'XXO  SfimoxlT  S^ISxX 

,hihv  6 or  iincXw6i/ni Jis^  .PiaV  c 7(s0i^)  > 


►■■; 


f'  ",  , 

■iij'xf  . ^«J’er;,itciT  r sK  .tas^osJ  is  aot^ij,  Ig  vaojaiR  A. 

* . ca  s . q,  , t£((i6£?3Ii?id  'I'tf  #'  s* 

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.*_ov  S'  .(^ti^f  £lal«;,fcn  ^JI^  --nS&o*  ' «•  '« 

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^ ^ .^{T^U^DO  A S'*"™  i 


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331 


Flint,  Robert,  Antl-Thelstic  Theories.  Edinburgh  (1879) . 

Farrar,  Adam  Storey,  A Critical  History  of  Free  Thought  in  Reference 
to  the  Christian  Religion.  New  York  (l866) . 

Hunt,  John,  Religious  Thought  in  England  from  the  Reformation  to  the 
End  of  Last  Century.  London  (IS'To)  . 

Hallam,  Henry,  Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe  in  the 

Fifteenth,  Sixteenth  and  Seventeenth  Centuries.  2nd  ed. , 
London (1843) . 3 vols. 

Hurst,  John  F.,  History  of  Rationalism.  N.Y.(1865).  Deals  only 

slightly  with  Reformation  period.  Bibliography,  pp.590- 
600. 

Klein,  Arthur  Jay,  Intolerance  in  the  Reign  of  Elizabeth  Queen  of 
England,  Boston (1917) . Very  valuable  and  complete 
”Bibliographical  Appendix,”  pp. 193-211. 

Lanson,  Gustave,  Manuel  Bibliographioue  de  la  Litte'rature  Francaise 
Mode  me.  1500-1900.  Pari  s ( 1909 - 19 lIT. 

Leland,  J. , A_  View  of  the  Principal  Deistical  Writers, London (1754)  . 

Lecky,W.E.H. , History  of  the  Rise  and  Influence  of  the  Spirit  of 
Rationalism  in  Europe.  3rd  ed. , London (1866) . 2 vols. 

Nourisson,  Philosophies  de  la  Nature,  Paris (1887) . Studies  of  Bacon 
and  Boyle  from  the  point  of  view  of  idealism.  The  intro- 
duction of  a hundred  pages  gives  a survey  of  the  history 
of  the  philosophy  of  science. 

Owen,  John,  The  Skeptics  of  the  French  Renaissance . London (1893) . 

The  Skeptics  of  the  Italian  Renaissance .3rd  el., London 

(1908) . Scholarly,  and  valuable  for  references  and 
bibliography. 

Perrens, F.T. , Les  Libertins  en France  au  XVIIe  Sieole.  Par is (1896). 

In  a new  edition  (1899)  all  the  references  were  for  some 
reason  omitted. 

Picavet,  Frai^ois,  Esquisse  d'une  Histoire  Gene rale  et  Comparee  des 
Phflosophtes  Me^’dievales . Paris  (1905)  . 

Essais  sur  l*Kistoire  Gd^nb^rale  et  Comparee  des  Philosophies 

. M^di^vales,  Paris (1913 )■. 

Picavet  emphasizes  the  Plotinian  tradition  in  the 
thought  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

Pringle-Pattison,  Andrew  Seth,  Articles  and  Bibliographies  on 
Scepticism  and  Scholasticism  in  the  Encyclopedia 
Britannica.  11th  ed. 


333 


Punjer,  Bernhard,  History  of  the  Christian  Philosophy  of  Religion 
from  the  Reformation  to  Kant . trans.  Hast ie , Edinburgh 
(1887) . 

Ramsay,  Mary  Paton,  Les  Doctrines  Me^'die vales  chez  Donne . le  Po^ete 
Me^taphysiolen  de  1*  Angleterre . Oxf  ord(l917)  . A study  of 
the  thought  of  Donne  by  a disciple  of  Picavet. 

Renan,  Ernest,  Averroes  et  1* Averrolsme,  Paris(l852). 

Robertson, J.M. , A Short  History  of  Free-Thought, Ancient  and  Modern, 

N.Y.(1906).  2nd  ed.  2 vols.  Valuable  bibliographical  manual 
for  original  sources. 

Sayous,  Edouard,  Les  De"istes  Anglais  et  le  Christ ianisme  orincipale- 
ment  depuis  To  land  iusqu'h,  Chubb,  Paris  ( 1882) . 

Schaff,  Philip,  The  Progress  of  Religious  Freedom,  N.Y.(1889).  Deals 
briefly  with  the  Renaissance. 

Sorley,  W.R.,  A History  of  English  Philosophy. Cambridge ( 1920) . 

Bibliography,  pp. 322-373.  A republication  of  the  chapters 
and  bibliographies  on  English  philosophy  in  the  Cambridge 
History  of  English  Literature . 

Stephen,  Sir  Leslie,  History  of  English  Thought  in  the  Eighteenth 
Century.  3rd  ed.,Hew  York(1902) . 2 vols. 

Strowski,  Fortunat,  Pascal  et  son  Temps:  vol.I,  De.  Montaigne  ~a 

Pascal,  4th  ed. , Paris (1909) . A study  of  the  "libertines," 
Stoics,  and  other  types  of  the  time  from  a Catholic  point 
of  view. 

Tulloch,  John,  Rational  Theology  and  Christian  Philosophy  in  England 
in  the  Seventeenth  Century.  2nd  ed. , Edinburgh (1874)  2 vols. 

/■ 

Villey,  Pierre,  Les  Sources  et  I'Evoluxion  des  Essais  de  Montaigne . 
Paris (l908ir  2 vols . 

L 'Influence  de  Montaigne  sur  Charles  Blount  et  sur  les 

Delates  Anglais,  in  Revue  du  Seiziem'e  Siecle,  vol.I  (1913)  . 

Montaigne  en  Angleterre . in  Re vue  des  Deux  Monde s . 1913. 

Wallace,  R. , Anti-Trinitarian  Biography.  London ( 1850) . 3 vols. 

White,  A.D.,  A History  of  the  Warfare  of  Science  with  Theology  in 
Christendom.  N.Y. (1896).  2 vols. 

Windelband,  W.,  A History  of  Philosophy,  trans.  Tufts,  K.Y.(1895). 

Very  serviceable  bibliographies  throughout,  with  additions 
by  the  translator. 


1 


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VITA 


Born,  July  30,  1888,  in  Springfield,  Minnesota. 

Schools  attended: 

Luther  College,  1903-7. 

University  of  Minnesota,  1907-10.  B. A., 1909;  M. A., 1910. 
Fellow  in  English,  University  of  Chicago,  1913-14. 

Summer  Session,  University  of  Chicago,  1915. 

Summer  Session,  Columbia  University,  1916. 

University  of  Illinois,  1916-17. 

University  of  Paris  (France^,  March-June,  1919. 

University  of  Illinois,  1919-21. 

Fellow  in  English,  University  of  Illinois,  1920-21. 

Teaching  career: 

Bristol  (S.Dak.)  high  school,  1910-11. 

New  Ulm  (Minn.)  high  school,  1911-12. 

Fargo  (N.Dak.)  high  school,  1912-13. 

Instructor  in  English,  Iowa  Stats  College,  1914-16. 

Assistant  in  English,  University  of  Illinois,  1916-17, 1919-2C 

Publications: 

Articles  in  The  Dial.  1912-17. 

Essays  for  College  English  (Heath),  joint  editor. 


,1 


